Let Chaos Be Undone
by Simzak957
Summary: Because All Origins Are True stories aren't crowded enough, I threw in Nathaniel, Merrill and a vashoth mercenary for good measure. Expect me to play fast and loose with canon, but still stick pretty close to Origins' story. Violence, language, adult themes. Pairings aren't 100% decided yet and could change, plus I don't want to spoil anything. You'll have to read to find out!
1. Prologue

_This all belongs to Bioware, obviously. I got tired of waiting for DA4 and decided to write a fic of my own. If everything goes well, the story will encompass the events of Awakening, Witch Hunt, II, Inquisition, and the novels and comics (except that shitty comic that had young Greagoir beating the mages), except they will have taken into account the changes I've implemented to the world in 9:30 Dragon and how they will ripple through the canon we all know and love. This story assumes a working knowledge of all the DA games, and you might be lost without that. I've already got 12 chapters written and up to slaying the Archdemon outlined. Enjoy and review!_

 _Most chapters will be nowhere near as long as the prologue, and they'll get shorter as the group starts to split up._

 _If it's too much to read, the prologue is skippable, but you might wanna come back to it later!_

 **Prologue: Origins**

"Mother! Mother, when is it that we are leaving? Is it soon?" Flemeth's most recent daughter asked her, eager to finally meet the slender and beautiful elves of legend.

Only five years old, Morrigan had already provided Flemeth with more headaches than her past two daughters combined, much to her annoyance. However, Asha'bellanar knew it was worth it: she could feel power in this vessel, power that she had not sensed for ages, and that made all of Morrigan's inane prattling worth it. Flemeth would teach her how to behave soon enough; she always did. If Morrigan refused to behave, well, Flemeth had ways of ensuring obedience. She _had_ been doing this for hundreds of years.

"Mother! I'm ready! Let's go!" Morrigan called up to her mother, who had said she was searching for something in the tower that was attached to the hut Morrigan called home.

She was not yet allowed up there, and despite wanting nothing more than to know what secrets her mother kept in her tower, Morrigan dared not venture in for fear of Flemeth's full wrath, which she had endured not but a week or two ago when she came across that beautiful golden mirror that she still missed so dearly. Flemeth finally answered her daughter, and though Morrigan could not see her mother's face, she could certainly hear the anger in her voice.

"If you do not stop pestering me, girl, you will not leave at all! I will leave you in the Wilds to fend for yourself until I return and you will have to wait another few years to meet any elves. Now, you will be silent and you will be still until I say otherwise. Do you understand?"

"Yes, mother," Morrigan sighed.

She directed her gaze at her muddy feet, standing like a solemn sentinel until mother had found whatever it was she had been looking for. Mother surely could not blame Morrigan for being excited, could she? She had not been in the best temperament as of late, that was certain, but she no matter how cranky she was, she had to understand that it was Morrigan's first time meeting _elves_. Elves! Morrigan could scarcely believe it. Now, if only mother would hurry up, Morrigan could finally go an adventure. Not a scary adventure, not like the ones mother would share with her on those lonely nights in the Wilds, but a real adventure, with heroes, knights, dragons, and the lot! Speaking of dragons…

Mother emerged from her hut with a crooked smile on her face. She was dressed in her rags, as usual. Admittedly, Morrigan was slightly disappointed; she enjoyed seeing mother in her dragonskin leather and silverite armour. Her long black hair was blowing in the breeze and her scheming yellow eyes looked as beautiful as ever. There was something most curious about mother's today, however: she had a silver blade strapped to her hip, engraved with runes the likes of which Morrigan had never seen. However, Morrigan knew better than to ask about it with the mood Flemeth was in today.

Asha'bellanar was pleased to see that Morrigan was standing exactly where she left her, looking meek and obedient, and exactly as Flemeth had asked. First, she breaks them, and then she builds them back up to create something suitable to her needs. She looked down at her daughter, smiling mischievously, as she always did, and spoke.

"Well, girl, are you ready?"

"Of course mother!"

"Then show me," Flemeth responded, challenging her.

Morrigan closed her eyes, and when she opened them again Flemeth saw that they had changed; they were no longer the curious amber eyes of a five year old, but the black eyes of a raven, tricky and troublesome. The rest of her body followed suit: she began sprouting feathers and contorting her body into the shape of a raven until she had transformed completely. Flemeth had to hide her surprise: not only was Morrigan's transformation speed improving, but she had finally mastered this form; Flemeth could find no flaws. And at the age of five! Smiling inwardly, Flemeth thought to herself ' _Trouble indeed, this one,'_ before addressing her daughter and transforming herself.

"Ha! I suppose that was adequate, girl. Now don't fall behind!" In a flash of light, Asha'bellanar was transformed herself into a raven, sword and all, and together with her daughter, set off to see the walkers of the lonely path.

* * *

"Did you hear? Another Aeducan born today, and a girl this time! Diala's her name," the father of Kalah Brosca's beloved children grumbled as he entered their shack in Dust Town.

"Not so loud!" Kalah cautioned. "You might wake the kids!"

"Right, right, the kids. Sorry, hon. So how was your day?" he asked, kissing his beloved and greeting his son before he sat down to have some ale after a long day at work.

Before responding, Kalah took a second to admire the man in front of her. He was handsome and strong, hard-working and dependable and, somehow, despite being casteless, good and honest. How he had survived for so long in Dust Town and not lost those qualities, she had no idea, but she thanked the Ancestors every day that he had. He had striking sea green eyes and jet black hair, just like his son, Mayrin, who she was holding in her arms. His skin was tanned and callused from a lifetime of hard work. She loved this man more than she could express: he loved her, he cared for her, he gave her another child, and he supported her no matter what, even if that meant working overwhelming hours at terrible jobs. Most importantly, though, he never lied to her. She had to do something to reward him, she felt, and had a big surprise planned for him in two days time.

"I can't complain," Kalah stated truthfully. "The kids were good, nobody threatened to rob us, and little Rica even wrangled herself a nug! You should have seen the look on her face, so proud to've caught us such a nice dinner."

"That's nice, Kalah," Mayrin's father said distractedly.

"You okay?" Kalah asked, sensing that something was amiss. "Anything wrong?"

"No, no… Just… I just had a really long day at work is all, and I'm off to bed."

"Already?"

"'Fraid so," he said, gulping down the last of his ale and heading off to sleep.

"I'll join you as soon as I put Mayrin to bed!"

And that was the last time Kalah kissed Mayrin's father good night, for in the morning he was gone without a trace. He left them nothing except a few copper pieces to feed themselves with for a few days. Of course, food is not what Kalah Brosca spent them on, for that was the day she bought mosswine for the first time in over a decade. That also happened to be the day the kind and grateful, if slightly naive, Kalah Brosca disappeared into a bottle, never to be seen again.

* * *

Another new arrival! Jaime could hardly wait. Maybe this one would make the tower a little bit more fun. Not only did Jaime Amell miss his family terribly, but he missed his friends, or just having friends in general. None of the other apprentices his age ever wanted to do anything _fun_ , not like his old friends did. He missed his companions and he missed his mother and he missed Kirkwall; this entire country smelled like a wet dog. Jaime positioned himself as close as was permitted to the Circle's entrance, as he did whenever there was a new arrival, and waited patiently for the new apprentice to arrive.

He happened to know one of the two templars that guarded the door today, Knight-Captain Greagoir. He was nice enough, and smiled at Jaime as he approached, offering a little wave.

"Some of the older apprentices said you were going to be Knight-Commander soon! Is that true? Will you be the boss then?" Jaime inquired innocently.

Chuckling a little bit, Greagoir responded, pointing his finger playfully at the seven-year old, "I am not sure yet, child, but I sure hope so! And yes, that would mean I'm in charge, so you better get on my good side now!"

Greagoir's joking demeanour solicited another giggle from Jaime, who was surely about to ask yet another question, but was interrupted when the doors to the front of the tower were unlocked, opening to reveal a single templar and a small elven child. The elf had mossy green eyes and long curly hair that was black like the night. His dark skin meant he was possibly Rivaini, or from somewhere around there, Jaime reflected. He would have to ask him about that later.

"Hello! How do you do? I'm Jaime. Jaime Amell, from Kirkwall. It's nice to meet you! What's your name?"

"R-Rayne," the small elf responded nervously, fear in his eyes.

"Run along now, apprentice," Greagoir commanded. "You can pester the new arrival later, _after_ he's had his orientation."

Solemnly, Jaime left and returned to the apprentice quarters. Curiously enough, there was an elven mage waiting for him there. Leorah was her name, and he knew her well enough, as she had just passed her Harrowing a month ago. She was always kind to him. She smiled at Jaime, greeting him warmly, and as if expecting a barrage of questions from the young apprentice, she simply stated:

"I am responsible for the new apprentice's orientation. Yes, I have enjoyed my time as a full-fledged mage thus far, it has been quite the experience. Yes, I volunteered to do the orientation-"

"Can-" Jaime attempted to interject, but Leorah kept going.

"And yes, I suppose you can accompany us for the orientation, if you really want, so long as you are not a distraction- and that you don't mention it to Greagoir."

Jaime was very impressed that Leorah could read his mind. He wondered if he would ever learn to do that when he became a mage. Leorah smiled internally, proud of herself for being able to deal with one of the Circle's brightest, and definitely it's most exuberant, young mind. He was a good lad, even if he was a bit of a nuisance at times. He would make a good mage one day, and hopefully she would be a Senior Enchanter by then.

The new apprentice was soon led into his quarters by Greagoir, who motioned to Leorah, a blonde-haired and recently-harrowed elven mage of moderate talent. Rayne's eyes lit up when he saw that an elf, and not a human, would be giving him his orientation, and that his mother had not been lying to him when she said that elves and humans were equals in the Circle of Magi.

Despite being separated from mother and his family in the alienage, Rayne could tell he was going to like it here: it was warm, everybody had clean clothes, there was furniture that did not look like it would fall apart at any minute, and the smell… It smelled like books, not refuse! That was what he liked most of all. Leorah led him around the tower, explaining what each room was for and where he was and was not allowed, and she introduced him to everybody along the way. Everyone seemed so nice here, even the templars, despite what he had heard. He met all kinds of people: Irving and Sweeney, Torren and Niall, Uldred and Wynne. This was all so exciting! This Jaime, especially, who had been following him and Leorah around, and pestering Rayne with questions, seemed to be completely genuine in his friendliness, not like the other human children he had encountered back home.

Jaime was happy the orientation was over, as he already knew everything that Leorah was explaining to Rayne. During the orientation, he learned a few things: Rayne Surana was from the alienage in Highever. His mother had lived there her whole life, but his father arrived there from Rivain a few decades ago. It was his father who had taught him how to read, but the man had recently died of fever, and Rayne still seemed quite sad about it. Jaime noticed how fearful Rayne seemed throughout the entire tour, despite his smiles, and made an effort to be as friendly as possible. Rayne even explained how he had been brought to the tower: when he accidentally froze the water he was drinking, his mother reported him to the templars straight away, which had surprised Jaime. What kind of mother would do that?

"She knew that I could have a better life here at the Circle than I ever would in the alienage, so she was sad about saying goodbye, but really happy for me because she knew I would never have to be hungry, and that I could read so many more books than the three we had at home," Rayne explained.

Jaime supposed it made sense; he had heard about how bad things were in Alienages, but he had never thought the Circle would be better! After returning to the apprentice quarters and getting Rayne's bed set up, Jaime was ready to have some fun! Much to his dismay, however, Rayne wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day in the library. It wasn't like Jaime had anything better to do, though, so he accompanied his new elven friend.

Rayne was in awe: so many books in one place! He sensed that Jaime wouldn't enjoy spending long here, but he couldn't resist! He could spend a whole week in here and still not read a tenth of the collection! Him and Jaime spent the better part of the afternoon in library, until dinnertime. After that, Jaime _insisted_ that they do something fun. Smiling, Rayne put a finger on his lips and crept outside near where a templar was standing guard. He bent down, put his hands on the floor, and closed his eyes. Jaime noticed that the floor was getting coated with some kind of shiny, clear, substance: grease, perhaps. It slithered across the floor to where the templar was standing. The templar shifted his weight a bit, as it must get uncomfortable standing in the same position for so long, and slipped on the grease, toppling over and landing on his stomach. Jaime couldn't help but laugh, and the templar saw them right away, yelling angrily. He tried to get up and fell over again, cursing. Rayne and Jaime took that as a cue to leave a dashed away as quickly as they could, hiding for half an hour until they were sure it was safe, unable to stop smiling at each other. Rayne hoped that that qualified as fun.

That night was marked as the night that Amell and Surana's reign of terror began; for years their pranks kept everyone on their toes. Yet, despite their disruptions, even the Senior Enchanters admitted that they were a bit disappointed when Rayne and Jaime declared that they had 'grown out of it', as they had always brought some much-needed levity to the otherwise somber Circle Tower.

* * *

"Welcome home _, kadan,_ " Tallis said, standing to greet his heart.

" _Kadan_ ," Hissrad responded happily, and rose to try something the two of them had observed the humans doing since their escape: a hug. It was awkward and forced, and especially difficult considering Hissrad's horns were pointed forward, but the two Tal-Vashoth found comfort in the gesture.

"How was the audience with their… Arl?" he asked hopefully, peering into his kadan's violet eyes.

"It went well enough, I believe. Like most humans we've met, Arl Wulff was suspicious and did not say all that was on his find, but he was truthful in his exchanges with me, and seemed the steadfast sort. He admitted he had never seen another of our kind before, but advised me that as long as we follow the laws of the land and pay taxes, we are free to do with this freehold what we wish. He warned me of old prejudices against foreign agents, due to some disagreements with the neighbouring nation from a few years back. Still, he did not believe we were 'Orlesian'— whatever that means— and gave us his permission."

"That is agreeable. Still, I must admit that I have yet to fully comprehend the nuances of human society. It seems chaotic, at best. No one has a place here. Their farmers wish to be merchants. The merchants dream of being nobles, and the nobles become warriors. No one is content to be who they are."

"Who _we_ are, _kadan_. For all intents and purposes, we are Fereldan now as well. Fereldan _Tal-Vashoth_. And is that not the reason we came here? To change our lot in life? To have the freedom to finally choose what to be, for the first time ever?"

Regarding his paramour with amusement, he embraced her once again in that thing called a hug, finding more success this time. He had also seen humans press their lips together as a sign of affection, and would have to try that as well, even if he failed to see the reason behind it. "Indeed it was."

"Speaking of names, we will need to pick new ones. When Arl Wulff asked my name, I thought he was trying to play an odd human joke on me, but it turns out that neither 'farmer' nor 'freeholder' is not a sufficient response. Apparently, a human's name and its role within society are two separate and unrelated concepts."

"Truly? Then our Arl is not truly swift and ferocious as a wolf?"

"It would appear not."

"Unfortunate. What are out choices?"

"I am unsure. I was told by the Arl the choice is ours', and that it need not have significance."

"Interesting. What about _Tal_ and _Vashoth?_ "

"Truly. _kadan?_ No. We have left the Qun, left that life entirely. I would not like to be constantly reminded of it, and neither would you."

"Very well. Our new leader is called Wulff, a powerful and respectable beast of the south. Thus, I shall be Panther: strong and swift and decisive."

"Logical. That seems like a decent human name, and is sure to garner respect. I shall be Bear: strong, powerful and ferocious."

"Yet not bereft of mercy, _kadan,_ " Panther said, giving Bear a knowing look.

"True enough. And there is one last name we need to decide."

"There are only two of us, Bear."

"That is where you are mistaken, _kadan,_ " Bear said, softly laying a hand on her abdomen.

Without missing a beat, Panther put his hand on her's and said: "It seems I was not so wrong after all. This child is a symbol of our new life together, and will serve as a reminder of the virtue that saved us from a life of servitude: Mercy."

* * *

"Yes, that's it Evelyn! Good. Just like that. No, don't drop your elbow… Good, but you're still dropping that elbow. Yes, perfect!" Adaia said, critiquing her daughter's form as she fought against imaginary shemlen.

"Die, _shem_!" Evelyn bellowed, thrusting the air with one of her daggers.

"Now, now," Adaia scolded, half-joking. "Be nice."

She knew what her husband thought of what they were doing, but she didn't really care. She was proud of her daughter, proud that she was teaching her to take care of herself. They sparred almost daily, and Evelyn improved each time. Aside from that, she was as quick and agile as the smallest cat, and would not be heard unless she wanted to. They both knew that Evelyn would most likely never have a chance to use the skills her mother was teaching her, but neither of them cared; they were useful, practice was fun, and Evelyn would rather know how to take care of herself than not.

Evelyn was just about halfway through her warmup when Adaia's niece, Shianni, barged in, panic in her eyes.

"Adaia, Adaia!" Shianni cried, tears streaming down her young face. "We need your help! There are shemlen here and Valendrian is in trouble and you're the best fighter I know and I don't know what we should do and-"

"Hush, dear," Adaia said, trying to pacify her niece. "Stay here, you two," Adaia commanded, taking as many of her daggers as she could possibly conceal. She knew the law: elves weren't allowed to carry weapons.

Adaia left her house and made her way to the alienage's vhenedahl, where the commotion was coming from. She saw two shemlen men, one armed with a longsword and the other two daggers. Their armour did not indicate any status, nor did it bear any sigils, but they _were_ armoured, a fact that made Adaia curse under her breath. However, their shoddy armour meant that they would not cause any more trouble after Adaia dealt with them. They were motioning towards a young girl whose name Adaia could not recall, was cowering behind Valendrian. Calm and collected as ever, Valendrian was trying to get them to leave.

"Please, we have no quarrel with you. Just run along and we'll forget this ever happened."

"You hear that?" one shem said to the other. "Bloody knife-ear here thinks he can tell us what to do!"

The other one let out a hearty laugh that made Adaia's skin crawl.

"That he does! Listen here, knife-ear, this is how it's gonna go: you're gonna get out of our way and let us have that pretty little lass behind you, or my friend and I are gonna go on a little rabbit hunt."

Just as the one began to draw his longsword, a knowing grin began to creep across Valendrian's face. He spotted Adaia on her way to the vhenedahl and offered a challenge.

"Is that so?"

And then Adaia was on them in a fury. Despite carrying them as precautions, Adaia had little need of her daggers. She flew at the one, delivering a swift knee to the back of his head and knocking him out cold. She pushed Valendrian out of the way, getting in between the shem and her family. He drew his sword and took a clumsy swing at her, Adaia easily sidestepping it and elbowing him in the nose, breaking it as easily as one breaks glass, and causing him to let his sword tumble to the soft earth. Quick as a fox, she snatched it up, simultaneously pushing the remaining shem to the ground. She held his sword at his throat and growled, "Like our elder said, just run along and we'll forget this ever happened."

Terrified, he stood up, blood still streaming out of his nose. He threw his friend over his shoulder and skirted away with his tail between his legs. Realizing it would be trouble later, Adaia threw the sword over the gates, never to be seen again. After ensuring the girl who was being threatened by the shemlen was unharmed, she took a moment to take in her surroundings. She looked around the alienage and saw happy, thankful faces greeting her, clapping for her and cheering her name. Even Evelyn and Shianni, whom she was sure she told to stay inside, were among them, eyes full of wonder. She chuckled, despite the situation, and looked at her husband, Cyrion, who had made his way to the vhenedahl as well.

"No," she teased Cyrion, with a rueful smile and sad triumph, "Evelyn will _never_ need to know how to defend herself."

Evelyn followed her parents back home, wondering why her mother never stuck around to hear people thank her or praise her. Seeing her take down two armed shemlen with her bare hands was so exciting, and she could see the other elves felt the same way. Her mother was remarkable! What some considered 'remarkable', however, was nothing special to Adaia; it was just another day in the alienage.

* * *

"Dammit!" a young Fergus Cousland swore as his arrow missed yet another bullseye.

His failure merited a chuckle from young Thomas Howe, who Fergus liked just as little as his father, Rendon. Both reminded him of vipers. He sometimes wondered how Nathaniel and Delilah had turned out so well. Perhaps it was their mother who was responsible for that, but as he had never met the woman, he could not say.

"Don't worry," Nathaniel said, putting a hand on Fergus' shoulder. "You'll get it. Good… Good. Keep your bow steady and-"

Fergus loosed another arrow. It landed nowhere near the bullseye, but it was closer than he had ever come before, and that made him happy. His younger brother, Keegan, gave him an congratulatory punch on the arm, and Nathaniel nodded, giving him an approving smile. Thomas grumbled a bit, but Fergus didn't really care about Thomas Howe.

"Getting better!" Teryn Bryce Cousland, Keegan and Fergus' father, called out from across the way. He was sitting on a wooden chair and sipping wine with his friend, Arl Rendon Howe, who in turn raised a glass for Fergus, giving him the most insincere smile the young Cousland had ever seen.

"Alright, my turn!" Keegan insisted, snatching the bow from his brother.

He began to line up his shot, seemingly ignoring any advice Nathaniel was giving. Apparently not doing very much aiming, he loosed his arrow, landing a bullseye, which shocked everybody there, Keegan included. Bryce and Rendon sat there looking stunned for a few seconds before Nathaniel began clapping for Keegan, everybody else soon following suit.

"It seems we've finally found your weapon, pup!" Bryce called out happily. "Your mother will be so happy to hear of it."

And so was Keegan. He was not gifted in swordplay; his brother got the better of him no matter which weapon they sparred with and no matter how much time he spent with their master-of-arms. He loosed a few more arrows, none of them landing exactly where he wanted, but all of them very close. He was a bit disheartened, but Nathaniel ruffled his bright red hair and offered words of reassurance:

"Hey, this is your first time! I'm gonna tell you a little secret," he said, crouching to get on Keegan's level and whispering in his ear. "You're better than I was when I started! I can't tell you how many times I shot right over the target," he said, demonstrating with his hand just how off the mark his shots used to be.

Keegan stayed out at the range practically all night, even after everybody else went inside, and much to his surprise _and_ delight, so did Nathaniel. The boy was a few years older than he was, but Keegan believed he had made a new friend that night. He was lucky that the Couslands and the Howes were such close friends. It was nearly midnight when Eleanor Cousland, Keegan's clever and kind-hearted mother, came out to tell her son and Nathaniel that it was time to come inside, her bright red hair shining in the moonlight. However, in her arms, she held a small mabari puppy, who was looking around excitedly, taking in new sights and smells.

"Mother!" Keegan yelled excitedly. "Is that a mabari puppy? Is it for me?!"

He ran to meet his mother, with Nathaniel in tow, and scratched the new puppy behind its ears. Asking permission first, Nathaniel did the same, fascinated by the dog.

"In truth, this one was supposed to be for your brother, but the pup did not seem too taken with Fergus, so I brought him out to see you and-"

The mabari bounded out of her arms and ran towards Keegan, tail wagging. Keegan sat down and hugged the puppy, making the mabari bark excitedly. Keegan laughed as his new friend licked his face, and Eleanor smiled down at her son.

"As I was saying, we wanted to see if the puppy would take a liking to you, and it seems he has decided that you are to be his owner. He needs a name, however, my dear."

"His name is… his name is Felix!"

"Felix, is it? Very well then. Understand that Felix will be your responsibility: you will feed him, walk him, train him, take responsibility for him, and clean up after him, even if the servants offer to do so. Should I ever learn that a servant cleaned up after your dog, I will ask Aldous to double your homework and Mother Mallol to triple your Chantry service for an entire month. Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal," Keegan responded happily.

"Well, enjoy, you three, and off to bed soon. I understand you have an early day tomorrow."

"Of course, Teryna Eleanor," Nathaniel said politely.

"Yes, mother! Thank you _so_ much for Felix! I really do appreciate it."

"Of course," Eleanor smiled, giving her son a kiss on the head before heading back inside for the night.

And there Keegan and Nathaniel stayed for another two hours, playing with Felix and enjoying each others' company. When he was going to bed, Felix curled up beside him, and Keegan was happy, realizing that he did not just make one new friend tonight. He made two.

* * *

Morrigan found elves to be a curious people. Unlike the humans she met, they neither recoiled in fear nor attacked in fury when mother appeared before them, touching down as a raven and turning back into the form with which Morrigan was so familiar. The elves… _bowed_ to her mother, and called her by a name Morrigan had heard spoken only a few times: Asha'bellanar, or woman of many years, which is what Asha'bellanar meant when translated into the King's Tongue. However, Morrigan sensed that there was something quite wrong at the Dalish camp: the air was tense and somber, and there were no sounds to speak of save for a few choked sobs and gasps. Indeed, something bad had happened here.

After Flemeth decided that she had been worshipped enough for the day, she instructed the elves to rise, telling them she had no need to be worshipped. Morrigan, however, knew that that was a lie, and the opposite was true.

"Where is your Keeper?" Flemeth asked, addressing nobody specific. There were quiet murmurs for awhile until a young elf stepped out of the crowd, bowing to Flemeth once again, choking back tears.

"Forgive us Asha'bellanar… But our Keeper died just last night, and his wife was badly wounded as well. Marethari is trying to save her and the baby as we speak."

Flemeth raised an eyebrow, her lips contorting into a crooked smile.

"Nonsense! You know as well as I that you Dalish always have a Keeper. Take me to Marethari," Morrigan's mother commanded, appearing equal parts amicable and threatening.

"Of course, Asha'bellanar," the young elf said, rising from his knees and setting off towards a large tent, bidding Flemeth and Morrigan to follow him.

The scene that awaited them in the tent was a terrible sight to behold, but far from the worst Morrigan had ever seen, thanks to Mother. Even before Morrigan saw the pools of blood on the ground, she could smell it in the air. There was a dead elven woman on a stretcher, her numerous stab wounds still trickling blood. In the corner of the tent, there was another elven woman sitting on ground, sobbing a covered in blood, clutching what appeared to be a baby's corpse.

"Marethari," mother said, with not an ounce of sympathy in her voice. "What has happened?"

The elven woman took a second to compose herself, looking up at mother with sad, elven eyes. The Mahariels were attacked last night… The Keeper was killed and his wife died birthing her child… Who also did not survive. I- I failed them. The Mahariel line ends here because I was not strong enough, or wise enough, or skilled enough to save them!" Marethari said, before she started sobbing again.

"Mother!" Morrigan said, noticeably distressed by the scene in front of her. "You can save them! I know you can!"

"I'm well-aware of what I can do," Flemeth snapped at her daughter, before realizing that an opportunity had presented itself to her. "Very well," Flemeth said, feigning exasperation, "I will save the child, provided that you do something for me."

"Of course, mother," Morrigan pleaded, eyes full of hope.

"No more disobedience and no more questioning. You will do what I say when I say without fail, without a single protest. If you disobey me again, I will find this child, no matter where she is and no matter old she is, I will bring her back to the Wilds, and I will kill her in front of you, slowly, painfully, making you watch every moment, and it will be all your fault. Do I make myself clear?"

"I- yes, mother," Morrigan said meekly.

"Give me the child, Marethari," Asha'bellanar commanded.

Slowly, Marethari stood up, and brought the baby to Asha'bellanar. Flemeth took the child in one arm, and with the other placed a hand over the baby. Her hand began to emit an eerie white light, and then, all of the sudden, the baby's blue eyes opened, and she started crying, soliciting tears of joy from Marethari.

"Thank you, Asha'bellanar! Thank you!"

"Oh, don't thank me, Marethari, thank my dear Morrigan, who pleaded for the child's life, moving me to act," Flemeth said, her voice heavy with sarcasm, satisfied in making her daughter believe that she did this as part of a bargain when, in reality, this child was the entire reason Flemeth had come in the first place.

Marethari crouched down and thanked Morrigan, and a sadness crept inside her, knowing what was in store for the poor child.

"Now, there are other things to be done," Flemeth said, all business. "Was the child named?"

"No, Asha'bellanar, or if she was, her parents died before telling anybody else."

"Very well. Her name will be Enid. Enid Mahariel. Not elven, no, but a good name nonetheless. Now," she said, drawing the sword she had brought with her, "this was to be given to your Keeper. The sword is called Rage's End. It is a fine blade of elven make, and forged by the Mahariels' ancestors before The People called the Dales home. Though anybody can wield it, only a Mahariel may use it as it was intended. So, I suppose you can give it to Enid here when she comes of age," Flemeth chuckled as she laid the sword on the table.

Marethari took a second to admire the blade: it was beautiful and obviously quite ancient; that much she could tell, at least. Curiously enough, it was not made of ironbark, as most dalish weapons are. Its handle was forged from the same metal the blade was: a beautiful, reflective, metal, most likely silverite, and there were runes carved all along both sides of the blade that she did not recognize. Bowing awkwardly, since she was holding the still-crying Enid in her arms, Marethari thanked Flemeth and Morrigan both, and the two women morphing into ravens, on their way back to the Wilds without even saying goodbye, both quite satisfied. Morrigan believed she had saved a life, and she even got to see Dalish elves. Their camp had been beautiful, statues and land ships everywhere the eye could see. Flemeth was even more pleased than her daughter: everything had gone better than expected. Through some quick thinking, she had ensured Morrigan's obedience by doing nothing more than exactly what she had intended to do when she had initially left the Wilds, and she had ensured that the Fifth Blight, which she knew would arrive soon, would end before it ever really began, thanks to Enid and her fate-touched comrades.

Arriving back in the Wilds, Flemeth and Morrigan returned to their human forms. Turning to her daughter, Flemeth commanded Morrigan to go out into the Wilds and catch them some rabbit, for that was what Flemeth wanted for dinner. And, without a word of protest, Morrigan obeyed. It had been a good day indeed.


	2. Warriors and Mages, Barbarians and Kings

**Chapter 1: Warriors and Mages, Barbarians and Kings**

"I'm here on behalf of the Blackstone Irregulars," Mercy said, bored.

"Yeah? What's this about?"

"I hear you stole supplies from the guild."

After they were dead, Mercy let out an exasperated sigh, gathering the guild's supplies and putting them in her pack. Another day, some more people slaughtered, some more coin… Some more solitude. She had a nice life with her parents. Nice, simple, fulfilling. Now… she was _maraas_. Alone. Nothing.

She was currently near Lake Calenhad, where she had just finished tracking down some supplies for a mercenary guild. Just as she was entering the Spoiled Princess, the inn near the lake, a well-armed man walked out the door. His skin tone pegged him as Rivaini, most likely, and his armour and weapons were of fine make, the armour silverite with a Grey Warden insignia on the chest piece. That was not what intrigued Mercy, however: he had a fire in his eyes. They blazed with true purpose, exactly what Mercy had been looking for. She then watched him get on the boat to the Circle Tower, even more curious than she had been moments ago.

"Was that a Grey Warden? Why is he going to the going to the Circle?" she asked the innkeeper.

"Oh, him? Yeah, Warden. He was off to look for some new recruits or something in the Tower. Not a chatty fellow, but he pays well. Beats me why he'd want _mages_ , but it's a Blight, I guess, and Wardens take all kinds."

"Thank you, sir," she nodded from under her helm, heading up to the room she had booked.

 _"Grey Warden?"_ she reflected. " _If I am to find my purpose, it will be there."_

* * *

After the shock and horror had worn off, Eve realized that she was really quite bored. The cell was cold, deep and dank, and it smelled absolutely terrible. More so than the alienage, even. She was expecting to be hanged, drawn and quartered, tortured, as well as everything else humans so liked doing to 'pretty elven women' like her. So far, though… nothing. No guards, no patrols, no visits, and not even commotion anywhere else. Had they… Forgotten about her? The elf that cut her way through the Arl's estate almost singlehandedly? She chuckled to herself. She'd be almost insulted… if she wasn't so hungry.

The boredom eventually ceded its position to the all-consuming hunger and solitude that came with being forgotten about in the bowels of some noble's estate. How long had it been now? Days? Weeks? What bothered Evelyn Tabris wasn't that she would die here, but that she would die because they had forgotten about her.

Then, she heard it: footsteps. Two, three people? Male voices. Some frustrated, one resisting…

She heard a click.

The door to her section of the dungeon creaked open, and the voices became more distinct:

"—won't get away with this, Loghain! The Maker will judge you for your crimes!"

"Quiet!" one of the guards said, silencing the prisoner with an armoured punch to the gut. Him and his compatriot threw their prisoner into another cell, each of them standing aside to give the man in charge a view of his new prisoner. He wore finely crafted silverite armour and straight black hair. She could only see his back, but he walked with the posture of someone who hadn't relaxed since he was born. Did the new prisoner say Loghain? Teyrn Loghain? Why would he be in the Arl of Denerim's dungeons?

"I… Apologize for this, Irminric. You and Alfstanna are good, loyal Fereldans, but you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Until the Blight is dealt with and the King defeats the darkspawn, you will remain here. Know that your sacrifice is for the good of Ferelden."

"Loghain! Please—"

"Enough, Irminric," Loghain said decisively, but with a twinge of regret in his voice. It wasn't until he turned around that he noticed Eve, curled up on the floor in her cell, and regarded her sympathetically.

"How long have you been here?"

"I'm n- not sure. It's been a l- long time," Eve responded, her voice raspy from disuse. It was easy to play the part of the pathetic elf because, well, starvation does that to a person.

"A result of that… Unpleasantness with Vaughan, I presume?"

Eve nodded, but even that effort took a lot out of her. The Teyrn looked at her not unsympathetically, realizing just how long she had been here.

"Captain," Teyrn said, looking at the man who punched Irminric. "Fetch her food immediately. Ensure that both prisoners are treated with dignity and given at least three square meals a day. When Arl Howe arrives, inform him that we will decide what to do with them when I return from Ostagar, however long that will take."

"Yes, Your Grace," the captain responded.

It looked like Evelyn Tabris would live to starve another day.

* * *

"I see he's grown into a fine young man. Pleased to see you again, lad."

Swallowing down the bile that threatened to spout up whenever he was forced to talk to Rendon Howe, Keegan Cousland put on his best smile, but could not be bothered overmuch with pleasantries when he had more important matters on his mind.

"And you, Arl Howe. Is your family with you?"

"Oh no, I left them in Amaranthine, well away from the fighting in the south. Except, of course, for Nathaniel, who is still in the Free Marches."

As if on cue, the double doors to the main hall were flung open, and, lo and behold, Nathaniel Howe came striding in, looking exhausted from what must have been a long journey from Kirkwall.

"Nathaniel?!" Arl Howe reacted in surprise, not nearly as happy as he should have been to see his son.

"Nate!" Keegan exclaimed, running over to his old friend to give him a back-breaking Fereldan bear-hug.

"It's good to see you again, Keegan. And you, Your Grace," Nathaniel said, giving Bryce a small bow.

"Father! What did I tell you about visiting the Couslands without me?"

Apparently not hearing his son, the Arl sputtered: "B-but, you're supposed to be in the Free Marches. Your training is not yet finished."

"Father, did you really think I could leave Ferelden to its fate during a Blight? I came here as soon as I could; almost rode my horse into the ground, poor bugger."

"But— it is not safe! If something were to happen to you—"

"Then I can die knowing I was fighting to defend my home, alongside the Couslands, much like you and His Grace here, yes?" Nathaniel finished, knowing he had won this little disagreement. He gave his red-headed friend a wink, surprised to realize just how much older he had gotten, beard and all. The chinstrap wasn't what Nate himself would have gone with, but with Keegan's blue eyes, he could get away with anything.

Conceding, Howe sighed heavily. "Very well. However, Teyrn Cousland was not expecting you. Surely you can find an inn near the Castle, as not to impose—"

"Nonsense, old friend!" Keegan's father interrupted. "You're much too worried about all of this. Even if most of our army wasn't marching towards Ostagar, we still have ample space in the guest quarters. Not that I expect the young Lord Nathaniel to be using them, of course," he finished, looking knowingly at his son.

"But, Your Grace!"

"Rendon, it's no trouble. A Howe always has a place to stay in Highever."

"…very well. Nathaniel, I will speak to you—" but, before he could finish, Arl Howe realized that Nathaniel and the Cousland boy were already trotting off to do Maker knows what.

"Off to raid the wine cellar, no doubt," Teyrn Cousland chuckled. "It might be best if Nathaniel stays here with Keegan, if only because he will be in no state to march tomorrow morning. Actually, if things are going as well as reports lead us to believe, we can make it back before the boys get rid of the hangovers they will no doubt have."

"Yes… That would be best, I think," Howe said, preoccupied with what this new development meant for his grand ambition.

* * *

Merrill was in a panic, all because of that mirror. The mirror that killed Tamlen. The mirror that was slowly killing Enid, her oldest friend. Enid had had no recollection of what happened to Tamlen, other than that he was with her when they encountered the ancient, poisonous mirror and the walking corpses. Merrill and Enid had investigated, but found nothing, and when they returned to camp, Enid fell ill. Her skin was a sickly pale and her beautiful blue eyes had already begun to lose their shimmer. Her long brown hair stuck to her head, drenched in sweat, and she was even subject to occasional convulsions. She was in constant pain, and drifted in and out of consciousness, almost always raving about nothing at all. Marethari told her that it was the taint, darkspawn corruption, a condition for which there was no cure. Despite that fact, her and Merrill were constantly at Enid's bedside trying to alleviate her pain.

"Keeper! You must think! Please, there must be something you know that can cure her!" Merrill pleaded, eyes welling up with tears. "You told us Asha'bellanar saved her! She must have had her reasons. Enid can't die here, she can't… She has always protected us, taken care of us as best as she could… And now… No! I won't accept it! I can't!" "I am sorry, Merrill, truly. We can lessen her suffering and prolong her life for another few weeks, but there is nothing we can do to save her. There is no cure," Marethari explained once again, defeat in her eyes. She had failed the Mahariel family once again.

"That… Isn't completely true," an elf the two women recognized as Aneirin the Healer said as he barged into the private tent, walking purposefully towards Enid and placing his fingers on her temples. "Sleep," he said, as Enid slipped into the Beyond, looking peaceful for once.

Aneirin then began basking her entire body in a healing blue light. He looked at the two elves, Keeper and First, with a flicker in his eyes. "She could become a Grey Warden."

Merrill's eyes widened, looking hopefully at the Keeper. "Truly?" she asked.

"That is true, I suppose, but with the darkspawn gathering in the south, that is where I assume they will be, and there is no way Enid could survive a journey that far south for that long. The thought had crossed my mind, but I thought it too far-fetched to even bear mentioning."

"Without me here, you would have been right. However, I did not earn the moniker 'Aneirin the Healer' for nothing," the nomadic elf said with a kind grin. "I know a few spells to preserve her life for longer than nearly anybody else could muster, and if you send a mage to escort her to the Wardens, that mage can keep Enid asleep and without pain while at the same time keeping her as healthy as they possibly could with all the magic they know… Were she to have all of that, well, Enid would have a chance."

"That settles it then! I'll take her!" Merrill said, standing up excitedly. "Aneirin, cast your spells. I'll pack her armour and weapons into an aravel and find a halla or two willing to take us south."

Marethari, however, was opposed to this idea. Merrill was her First, and training a new one would be quite a time-consuming task when her clan had constant need of that very time. Aside from that, however, she cared for Merrill, and, with the Blight gathering in the south, Marethari planned to take the clan north and across the Waking Sea to escape it. Merrill would not be able to come with them, and would perhaps never see the clan again. As much as it pained her to admit it, letting Enid die was the better decision; she would lose fewer elves that way. But she knew her First. Merrill was not one to take no for an answer after she put her mind to something. Indeed, it was one of the reasons for which she was chosen as First, and Marethari knew that there was little she could do to persuade the young elf to stay. Had this been any other elf, Merrill would never think to abandon her clan, but this was Enid, who was cherished by the entire clan, Merrill above all, and Marethari knew Merrill would sacrifice anything she could to save her friend. With great sadness, Marethari nodded at the girl she loved like a daughter, standing up and beginning to prepare the slumbering Enid for travel. Aneirin did all he could and then set out for the south, perhaps to the Brecilian forest. He had not been there for many years.

The aravel and the halla were soon prepared… Everything was in order. Merrill was acutely aware that she was abandoning her clan, and it pained her greatly. However, Enid had been her dearest friend for as long as she knew, and had saved Merrill's life many a time, so Merrill felt she owed it to Enid to do everything in her power to save her. With a heavy heart, and after quickly saying her goodbyes, Merrill mounted one of the beautiful snow-white halla and ensured that she still had a clear view of Enid in the aravel. Sadness in her eyes, Marethari approached the halla, absently stroking its head as she tried to muster a smile for Merrill.

" _Dareth shiral, da'len._ Creators speed your path. And just know… That I have always been proud of you. So very proud," Marethari said, biting back tears as she laid a hand on Merrill's shoulder.

" _Ma serannas_ , Keeper, for everything… And… Mythal protect you all on your journey north." With a half-hearted smile and worry in her eyes, Merrill began her journey south, her timid heart full of hope that she would be able to repay Enid for all that she had done.

* * *

Mayrin did not know how long he had been imprisoned, and neither did he know how much longer he could take being stuck with Leske. He was a friend, certainly, but one could only endure so much of his constant chatter. Thankfully, relief came in the form of well-dressed dwarf with smiling eyes named Bodahn Feddic. Apparently, Bodahn had persuaded the jailor to let Mayrin and Leske go (for a price, of course; nothing came for free in Orzammar).

"I've invested a great deal in you two, especially you," he said, motioning to Mayrin, continuing, "Winning the Provings against the best of the Warrior Caste, yet our wise leaders have left you to rot in jail for doing something you would be revered for had you been born into another family! I say, why not put your skills to good use? And that's what I plan on doing."

Raising an eyebrow as Bodahn unlocked their cells, Mayrin had to admit that his curiosity was piqued and his gratitude was great.

"Not that I'm not grateful for the freedom thing, and I am, but what, exactly is it that you have in store for us?"

"Yeah!" Leske added, ever the wordsmith.

Bodahn's lips twisted kindly looking smile, but Mayrin could easily recognize the scheming eye of a merchant born.

"Well, you see… I'm Merchant Caste. I salvage history from lost thaigs and reunite them with the people of Orzammar… For a small price, of course. However, the Deep Roads are not the most hospitable of places, so I tend to employ casteless dwarves to venture into the Deep Roads for me. That's where you come in. You and your friend will work for me until either you have salvaged enough goods to repay your debt, in which case you will be free to go, or you are killed in the Deep Roads. Expect no more than two expeditions, which will each last about two weeks, give or take a few days. After that, you may continue to work for me, and will be paid, or you may go on your way, however that does mean I will stop paying the carta to look the other way. It's all the same to me, however. Do we have a deal, boys?"

Mayrin and Leske exchanged smiles, nodding, before Mayrin said to Bodahn, "We have a deal. It'll sure be better than Beraht."


	3. It's Up to Our Children Now

**Chapter 2: It's Up to Our Children Now**

Keegan awoke to someone shaking him awake, slowly realizing that Felix's barking was not, in fact, part of his dream. He opened his eyes to see Nathaniel's grey eyes looking at him with concern.

"Keegan! What's happening?"

There was a rapping on the door.

"Lord Nathaniel, please come with us, for your own safety."

"My own safety? What are you talking about?"

"We're under orders from your father to take you into protective custody."

Felix's barking had not abated, and his growling was the kind he reserved for visiting Orlesians and thunderstorms. Keegan and Nathaniel shared a skeptical look, and the two of them sprang out of bed, putting their armor on as quickly as possible, Keegan putting his hand on Felix to quiet him down. Ferelden's most eligible bachelors each drew their bows, ready to loose their arrows on any who entered.

"Lord Nathaniel! If you do not open the door, we will need to force our way in."

"Be our guest!" Keegan yelled at them.

Neither of them made it past the threshold, an arrow lodging itself into each of their foreheads the second the door opened. Taking a second to examine their assailants, Nathaniel saw the bear sigil on their shields and came to grips with the reality of their situation.

"These… These are my father's men, and not just the rank and file. I've known them since I was a boy. What could he be thinking?" Nathaniel asked, tears in his eyes, hands shaking.

Another few arrows flew past their heads to find purchase in the men rushing into the hallway, both boys turning to see Teyrna Cousland in full armor; ferocity in her eyes. As she nodded at them, Keegan finally understood how her mother earned her moniker during the rebellion.

"It… It doesn't matter right now," Keegan responded, pushing down everything he was feeling. With an unnatural calm in his voice, he continued. "What matters is surviving. We can figure out the why and the how later."

Nathaniel nodded solemnly, accepting that he was about to carve his way though Amaranthine's men and women, some of whom had protected and served his family his entire life so long as it meant his best— and possibly only— friend survived.

* * *

"Bodahn, you better not make me regret this," Mayrin said, cleaving his way through the genlock in front of them. "You paid me some good coin," he continued, raising his shield to block a menacing hurlock before cleaving its head clean off with his handaxe, "but I'm not so sure about the surface."

"Not to worry, Mr. Brosca! I haven't steered you wrong yet!" Bodahn responded.

"Enchantment!" his newly-adopted son agreed.

It wasn't like he had a choice, honestly. Bodahn's exile meant that his payoffs would stop, and the Proving Masters, or the Noble Caste, or even Beraht, would collect their due. Impersonating a fancy fighter in the Provings didn't win a casteless dwarf a lot of friends in Orzammar, and shaving your beard could only hide you for so long.

"And remind me again why we couldn't just leave through the main gates again? You know, the exit that isn't perilous and infested by darkspawn?" Mayrin asked, smashing his shield into a charging genlock while Bodahn made sure to carefully tiptoe over its corpse.

"Think of what we could find on this route out! One never knows what treasures they'll find in the Deep Roads, and I have no doubt the humans will be very interested in dwarven artifacts!"

"Enchantment!" Sandal offered helpfully.

"I guess, but surely—"

Mayrin was cut off by the immense battle cry they heard from a tunnel ahead of them.

"That sounded like—"

"A dwarf!" Mayrin said as he took off running, before coming face to face with one of the most awesome sights he'd seen in his life: a well-muscled dwarven woman wearing a mismatch of different armor, each piece haphazardly thrown on to the last. She was covered in black darkspawn ichor, but Mayrin thought he saw some pale skin hiding under the vile taint that stuck her shoulder-length blonde hair to her scalp. As she cleaved a hurlock in half, her deep brown eyes met Mayrin's deep blue, and he saw an almost animalistic ferocity in the eyes of a woman who had all but accepted her fate. Mayrin, however, had other plans, and charged into battle, realizing just how right Feddic had been.

"Careful, Mr. Brosca! She already looks tainted; there's nothing we can do for her."

"I don't believe that," Mayrin said, slashing and dashing his way through the ranks of the darkspawn until he found himself back to back with the mysterious woman.

"Good to see another dwarf out here," she said, parrying a hurlock alpha's massive axe.

"Likewise," Mayrin responded, slicing the head off another genlock. "Mayrin Brosca. Pleasure."

"Diala Aeduc— Just Diala," she responded, bisecting two screaming hurlocks with one fell swoop. "But he's right, you know. I can already feel it inside me, and I don't want you to die for nothing," she said with a calm and respect that surprised Mayrin, if she has who he thought she was.

Bodahn, apparently, had the same realization, thinking of all the gold he could get from this particular bit of treasure he had discovered in the Deep Roads. "Mr. Brosca! Protect her!"

"Funny how quickly he changed his tune," Diala said, finishing off the genlock of this particular group, and trying (if unsuccessfully) to wipe away at least some of the taint from her face. The merchant approached her like one would priceless treasure treasure, bowing low before the former princess.

"Lady Aeducan, my name is—"

"Don't care. Not an Aeducan anymore. Let me die here in the Deep Roads, merchant, and be on your way."

"Nonsense, milady. Mr. Brosca, my son and I are on our way to the surface. We can take you with us!"

"To be honest, I wouldn't mind having someone I know can watch my back along for the ride," Mayrin responded, cleaning his axe, shield and armor of any remaining taint.

"And as much as I would love to not die a horrible death from the darkspawn, I'm already tainted. I'd rather die against them in battle than succumb later."

"I… I guess there's nothing to be done, then," Mayrin responded, unable to meet her eyes. "If we'd been here sooner, maybe I could have—"

"No need to be so dramatic yet, Mr. Brosca. There exists a cure, if the tales are to be believed."

"You can't mean—" Diala started, the realization dawning on her.

"I do. We're off to find the Grey Wardens," Bodahn concluded, his offer not entirely altruistic.

"Enchantment," Sandal added sagely, as the exiled princess joined the trio on their journey to the surface.

* * *

Enid Mahariel slowly became aware of the sound of the halla bleating somewhere outside her… aravel? What was she doing lying inside an aravel? Had she been cut off from the clan? She couldn't hear them, or feel them around her. She looked to her side to ensure that she still had her sword, and valiantly struggled to sit up, before crying out in pain and lying back down.

 _Creators, what is this?_ Enid thought. _It feels as though I am burning… everywhere._

Soon enough, she heard frantic footsteps running towards the aravel, the curtain swung open by a frantic-looking Merrill with dangerously dark circles under her eyes.

"Merrill?" Enid asked, "Where am I? What's going on?"

"Oh Enid, I'm so sorry. You shouldn't be awake. We'll get there soon, I promise! Back to sleep!"

And with a flash of yellow light from Merrill's staff, Enid drifted back into the embrace of The Beyond, and ever closer to Falon'Din.

* * *

"—and that," Eve explained, "is reason number thirty-seven why the Chant is bullshit, the Maker is a scam, and Andraste was just some crazy abomination." She saw Irminric wince at her, but he was able to hold his tongue, knowing what Eve was planning.

"Alright, that's it, you knife-eared bitch!" their guard, Johnathan, roared, stomping towards her cell. He was a young guard, and underestimated the capabilities of the rake-thin elven woman he had guarded these past months. Then again, they always did. Unlocking her cell, he threw his sword and shield to the ground in anticipation for what he was about to do. "I've got something that'll shut you right up," he said, eyes alight with fury as he started to unbuckle.

Feigning cowardice, Eve backed into the corner and started doing her very best to pretend to cry. "No, please sir!" she said, practically begging him to come closer, as far as he was concerned. Wordlessly, he approached, like a wild animal zeroing in on his prey. Little did he know, this prey was not so helpless. His awkward shuffle resulting from his breeches around his ankles made Eve's work even easier. As soon as he got close enough, she swept his legs out from under him, rolling out of his way and darting to her feet before he even hit the ground. Before he perceived what was happening, his keys had already been thrown out of the cell, and his prisoner had his own sword at his throat, straddling his chest.

"You know, Johnny, we picked you because you were young, easy to manipulate, easy to rile up." She pressed the sword into his throat now, letting a little bit of blood trickle from the incision. "I know I didn't have anything against you personally, and I'm sure our dear templar over there didn't either."

"Please—"

"Quiet, _shem,_ " she said, pressing the blade deeper. "Now, I expected you to get angry at me. In fact, the plan was predicated on that fact, so I don't begrudge you for that. I expected you to yell at me, even to try to beat me— well, hoped more like. Then I could just knock you out, and leave you to recover and guard another day. But, that isn't what you tried to do, is it? Every time I think I judge you _shemlen_ too harshly, that you can't be that bad, that men in armor with the smallest bit of power aren't going to abuse it at every chance they get, you remind me how stupid," —another cut—- "pathetic," —-and another—- "and cruel you are. Maker show you Mercy, Johnny, because I sure won't."

And justice was done.

Eve wordlessly unlocked Irminric's cell, still too angry to meet his eyes.

"Well," she said curtly. "Get his armor on."

"Y-yes, m-my lady Tabris," he sputtered out. He was covered in sweat and shaking almost violently, and Eve realized for the first time just how serious lyrium dependancy was. "You know, m-my lady… After we d-depart, you d-d-d-don't have to travel with me. I would understand if—"

"No, Irminric. You've been nothing but perfectly decent so far."

"You're certain? I would understand—"

"I'm certain. After we get some lyrium on the way out of Denerim, we'll go see Alfstanna. Just… Don't disappoint me, templar."

Taking a knee and bowing his head before his elven liberator, the disgraced templar said: "Lady Evelyn Tabris, I swear by the Maker that I will endeavour to do all I can not to disappoint you, and that no harm will come to you so long as you are with me."

Eve snickered at that last bit, but appreciated the sentiment, hoping Irminric would finally show her the good some of those good _shemlen_ Valendrian had always insisted were out there somewhere. She prayed to the Maker that she wouldn't be disappointed again.

* * *

"All I am saying is that it seems impractical for someone of your particular skillset," Mercy yelled behind her to one of her fellow Warden recruits.

"And what _I'm_ saying is that it was never a big deal in the Tower. If my hair ever got set on fire (which _did_ happen once or twice) it was promptly put out by another mage," Rayne said, pulling his new fur cloak around his body. Of all the reasons he missed Kinloch Hold, the lack of bone-chilling cold was high on the list. Honestly, part of the reason he liked his hair how it was was because having waist-length curly hair afforded additional protection from the cold.

"You could at least tie it up, like that Morrigan woman we met in the ruins. Or I could cut it for you when we get back to camp if you wish." Mercy offered helpfully.

"Ha!" Daveth jumped in. "I don't think the elf would like that, but I wouldn't find seeing someone else get fireballed today, so I say you should do it."

Stifling a snicker, Alistair added unconvincingly, "Alright, recruits! That's enough. If he wants to give the darkspawn something to grab on to, it just means that we can put one more body in between us and the darkspawn."

"By that logic," Daveth continued, "Ser knight here will outlive us all!"

"Tr-truly?" Jory asked. "That's encouraging. I—"

"Have a wife and child at home in Highever. Yes, we know," Rayne said, rolling his eyes and jogging a little bit to fall into step with Mercy. Truth be told, all this running and walking and adventuring was exhausting, and keeping up with his titanic compatriot was an ordeal in and of itself.

"Mercy, I had some more questions about the qun!"

"I am hardly surprised," she responded, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Can you not at least wait until tonight? My parents always said _saarebas_ were dangerous, but I never realized that their power was in boring their compatriots to death."

"I suppose," Rayne whined. "It's just— oh, wait, straggler," he stopped, freezing a darkspawn a few feet ahead before unleashing a bolt of arcane energy to destroy it. "Anyways, it's just… There was so little about the qun in the tower, and what I did learn was from the foreign language section, where The First Enchanter secretly kept translated passages of Genitvi's work."

"You did not learn about the qun? I thought your Circles had books on everything. That is interesting, and not entirely unfortunate."

"Yes it is!," Rayne surprising all of his traveling companions with his volume and causing his blue spirit wisp to jump in surprise. "Sorry… I just mean… Knowledge should be shared, not hoarded! The Chantry's censors make things all the more alluring and enticing."

"There is wisdom in that, but I can understand why the Chantry makes the choices it does. Dissenting viewpoints can only hurt a cause, after all."

"Not if your viewpoint or belief system is strong enough to stand against opposing or contradictory viewpoints or ideas. Stifling that knowledge is cowardly."

"And there is wisdom in that, as well," Mercy nodded.

"You know," Alistair said, "I think I liked it better when you two were our wacky new and quiet warden recruits: the stoic qunari lady and the homesick mage boy."

"Hey!" they said in unison.

"I will have you know that I am quite emotive for a qunari, and I have no doubt that Rayne will be complaining about the weather, or the fighting, or his feet, before you know it."

As if on cue, Rayne let out a panicked yelp and blasted fire upwards, falling hard onto his backside and giving everyone even more of an excuse to stare at him.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Bug."


	4. The Joining

**Chapter 3: The Joining**

" _Join us brothers and sisters._

 _Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant._

 _Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn._

 _And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten._

 _And that one day we shall join you._ "

If he wasn't so horrified, Rayne would be a little excited. Not only was learning the secret ritual that made Grey Wardens what they were, but he might very well be seeing the very first instance of a qunari joining the Grey Wardens in the history of Thedas.

"Mercy, step forward," Duncan said, holding out the Joining chalice. Taking a sip, Mercy immediately started coughing, just liked Daveth had.

"I am sorry, Mer-"

"Wait," she grunted, holding her stomach in pain. Then, before their very eyes, she began to change. Her already-impressive horns grew even larger and her nails poked through her gloves into sharp claws, her canines following suit. It was at this point that Duncan and Alistair put a hand on their blades.

"Wait!" Rayne said, his wisp circling him erratically in anticipation of what was happening to Mercy. She grew nearly an entire foot, some equipment breaking in response to the sudden change, before she collapsed onto the ground, her eyes having turned completely black.

Staring blankly for a second, Duncan eventually snapped out of his spell. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden," he said before turning to Rayne.

Okay. Okay. He could do this. Grey Warden. Not comfy bookworm in the tower. Grey Warden, bugs and all.

"Step forward, Rayne."

After taking a sip, Rayne nearly vomited the Joining potion back up right away, but kept it down through sheer force of will. As the ground rushed up to meet him he heard Duncan's somber words.

"From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."

* * *

 _Note: I scoured the wiki for stuff about a qunari warden, and nothing indicated it was impossible, but we have yet to see one in game or in any extended media. Out of all darkspawn, ogres are by **far** the most monstrous and most terrifying, and they also differ the most from the qunari. Yeah, they're still strong and horned and stuff, but the transformation from qunari to ogre seems a lot more drastic than from dwarf to genlock, human to hurlock, or even elf to shriek, and I thought there had to be a reason for that. So, I figured qunari wardens would have a reaction as well. I figure it's their dragon blood (which still hasn't been 100% confirmed by Bioware) combining with the taint._


	5. Serenity Defying Comprehension

**Chapter 4: Serenity Defying Comprehension**

Mercy could get used to this. As a vashoth, she was already easily stronger than most human men she encountered, but the Joining potion had done something unthinkable… It made her even stronger. Faster. More resilient than ever before. Luckily, Duncan found some Warden armour with which she could be outfitted that actually fit, as well as two beautiful silverite longswords to go with the set. Rayne, too, was outfitted with the Warden mage uniform and given a new staff. She enjoyed the company of the _saarebas_ and was happy he had survived the Joining. It was refreshing to meet a human, elf or dwarf who didn't flinch in fear when meeting her or treat her like a mindless giant. He really should cut his hair, though, or at least tie it up a little more, like Mercy herself did.

Preparation for the battle was underway, and Mercy was actually excited, nearly vibrating, as she made her way to the war table. Fighting darkspawn was simple, and being a Grey Warden made it even more so. Of course, the darkspawn were monstrous, could be devious, and incredibly dangerous, but they didn't have families that might love them or extenuating circumstances for their crimes, like that supposed deserter in the camp. That made things simple, morally. No darkspawn deserved mercy. As she approached the war table she quickly came to realize just who she was looking at: a personal hero of her's, a nearly legendary figure: the Hero of River Dane.

* * *

A lot of firsts for Eve, in the past month. First time stealing lyrium. First time killing nobles. First time in jail. First time breaking out of jail. And first time leaving Denerim. It'd be exciting, if it wasn't so terrifying. Traveling the countryside was exhausting, especially with a _shemlen_ so fascinated with Eve's horrifying life in the alienage. She appreciated his willingness to learn, but she wasn't his teacher. She shouldn't have to relive the worst parts of her life just to educate the _shem_ about how they had mistreated, and continued to mistreat the elves.

"There! Castle Eremon. Almost home," Irminric said excitedly. His excitement was dwarfed only by Eve's trepidation. Why was she doing this? More than likely, she'd be executed by this Alfstanna to pay for what she had done to Vaughan.

The Castle itself was massive; bigger than the palace at Denerim's, and much more defensible. Her keen eyes identified myriad archers hidden among the obsidian ramparts, from which the Waking Sea bannorn's flag was hung: a stylized arrow over some crashing waves, a nod to the story of Canemae and Calenhad.

"Lord Irminric? Is that you?" a guard called from above.

" _Ser_ Irminric, Samuel," the templar corrected. "I haven't been a lord of anything for a long time. If you could, please open the gates and let Alfstanna know I'm here!"

"Right away, my lo- Ser."

* * *

Crestwood's Rusted Horn was an accommodating enough tavern. Beds were comfy, bread was hearty, mead was good. However, it was still an inconvenience to its two newest guests. Nathaniel and Keegan were on their way to Ostagar, and annoyed that they had to stop at all. They had considered Amaranthine, but didn't know how many among them were still loyal to Arl Howe, and more importantly, they didn't know if Nathaniel's father sent anyone to deal with Fergus in Ostagar. In truth, Nathaniel was still confused: he tended to switch from anger to despair to disbelief and then back to anger again. How could his father do this? He had ruined everything. He'd always been ambitious and… even a little brusque, but the Howes were loyal to the Couslands, and the Couslands to the Howes. That was part of what defined them as Howes, or it had been.

Making his way up the stairs to their room, Nathaniel opened the door to find Keegan exactly where he left him: sitting on the bed and staring at what was apparently a very entertaining wall, with Felix curled up beside him. Nate sat down on the other side of him and said softly: "According to the barkeep, the war effort in the south has gone well so far, and the darkspawn haven't gained any ground. Fergus most likely made it unharmed and is with King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain now."

"Good," Keegan said without looking away from the wall. Keegan's behaviour had worried Nathaniel the past few days. He barely said anything, but didn't seem sad or morose. No sadness or despair, no fury, nothing. It was like Keegan had sealed all of his emotions in a bottle the night they fled Highever, and had no intention of liberating them anytime soon.

"You know, Keegan… You can always talk to me. I know I can't make up for what my father did but I can promise you that I will never become him, and that I will never betray you like he did your father." At this point, Nathaniel had his arm around Keegan's shoulder, who so far hadn't responded.

With a serenity defying comprehension, Keegan responded: "I am aware. Thank you, Nathaniel. I vow the same."

"Like there was ever any doubt," Nathaniel said, trying to smile enough for the two of them. He hugged his best friend tight, and though there was no response, knew that both of them found comfort in the gesture. Felix licked each of their hands and pressed his head in between them, feeling utterly left out of the cuddles.

"Well," Keegan said, undoing his little ponytail and taking his earring out for bed, "have a good night."

"You too…" Nathaniel responded, frustrated with his lack of progress.

 _Keegan,_ he silently pleaded, _where are you?_

* * *

Bann Alfstanna hadn't ordered Eve's execution yet, so things were going well. The human woman was angrily pacing back and forth in her study while Eve and Irminric sat in silence. She was everything the Orlesians expected from a Fereldan "dog-lord": her hair was short and braided haphazardly, her face wasn't powdered, and she held the audience in full leather armor with her mabari, Angus. The midnight black mabari was incredibly friendly, and Eve had already decided that she preferred him to most of the _shemlen_ she had met in her time. The study itself was sparsely decorated. Its stone walls had but one adornment other than the torches: what Eve assumed was a family portrait of Irminric and Alfstanna as children with their parents. There was a copy of the Chant of Light on her desk beside a small wooden carving of a mabari, an inkwell and a candle.

"I know that war makes people do terrible things, but interfering with a templar's sacred duty? Imprisoning him indefinitely? What was Loghain thinking?"

"I am uncertain, sister, but I thank the Maker that our Lady Tabris was in that dungeon with me. Without her, I would surely have gone through lyrium withdrawal… Or worse, and no one would be any the wiser."

"Indeed," Alfstanna said, giving Eve a respectful nod. "Thank you, my lady, for saving my brother. I am forever in your debt."

"Wait… I'm not in trouble? For… you know?"

"Reports of Vaughan's death were unclear, and who would believe that a pair of elves made their way through his estate on a quest for justice? Besides, one fewer Kendalls at the landsmeet can never be a bad thing. I appreciate your honesty in the matter."

"You're… Serious? I knew what Irminric said, but for a human noble to… wow. Thank you."

Smiling sadly, Alfstanna simply responded " _Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._ You will always be welcome within these halls."

"Thank you, bann Alfstanna."

"Now, we must put word out of what happened. Irminric, make a stop by the Chantry to stock up on lyrium. Revered Mother Ciara will be happy to see you."

"Of course, sister."

"For the rest of the day, rest, eat and drink— but not too much. I'll be sending messengers out tonight, but we need to ensure that messages to our most powerful allies are not lost along the way, and few hold as much sway in the landsmeet as Arl Eamon. Obviously, the Grand Cleric would be preferable, but sending you two back to Denerim would be… Unwise. Could I trouble the two of you to deliver news of Loghain's crimes personally, along with a letter from me? You would, of course, be fairly compensated for your travels, Lady Tabris, and would carry with you an official letter granting you the authority to act in my name."

"That would be more than acceptable, bann Alfstanna. Once again, I must thank you for your generosity."

"Nonsense. It is only proper strategy to hire skilled help. Now, would five sovereigns, paid in advance, be acceptable for the journey, or is that too little?"

Evelyn froze for a second. Five _sovereigns?_ Her instincts were telling her that this was too good to be true, that she needed to get out now, but Alfstanna had been nothing but kind so far. Better to be agreeable and deferential than suspicious and ungrateful.

"Not at all, bann Alfstanna. In truth, I would do it for five silver, and am happy to serve."

"Wonderful!" Irminric said. "I had grown quite fond of your company, Lady Tabris, and am most pleased that our partnership will continue."

"Then it is settled," Alfstanna said. "Tomorrow, you leave for Redcliffe."

* * *

"So, why are you so important?" Mercy yelled to Alistair as the two of them stopped at the other side of the bridge to the Tower of Ishal to give their out-of-shape mage companion time to catch up.

"What are you talking about?" Alistair responded, honestly having no idea.

"Why are you here? Duncan, Loghain and Cailan wanted **you** here. Specifically. Why?"

"Cailan wanted us all here. We're Grey Wardens! Important job, signal fire, flanking charge. Ringing any bells?"

"Alistair. That's true, but he was worried about you, specifically. Not fascinated by, like us, but worried about. Why?"

All of a sudden, whatever it was that Alistair was realizing hit him. "You… Noticed that? Truly? How could you tell?"

"My parents taught me, but you aren't answering my—"

"Wait up!" Rayne called as he approached. "Just— just give me a minute to— to catch my breath," Rayne said, his hands on his thighs as he panted, starved for air.

"Saved by the mage," Alistair said, winking at Mercy. Running forwards, he yelled back "If we survive this, I'll tell you after!"

Mercy took off running behind him, slightly amused, leaving an exhausted Rayne behind her. There was no way she'd let the templar outdo her.

"Hey!" he said halfheartedly, "you guys can't keep doing this!" Rayne muttered to himself as he tried fruitlessly to catch up to his armoured companions.


	6. Emma Ir Abelas

**Chapter 5: _Emma Ir Abelas_**

It was a quiet, somber walk from the Wilds, each Grey Warden grieving in their own way, while Morrigan was content to walk in silence. Eventually, Mercy tried her best to talk about happier things, or just to fill the silence. Her and Alistair were currently talking about… well, something about swords, Rayne assumed. That's what warriors talked about. Mercy was trying her hardest to get Alistair out of his slump, which proved difficult when Rayne and Mercy were right there with him, with the whole being the last of their order in Ferelden thing. The elven mage, however, was a few paces behind them, walking beside their newest traveling companion, with whom Rayne was incredibly fascinated.

"Truly, Morrigan. It wasn't like that. The Circle was home for a long time, and I had a better life there than I ever would have outside."

"Please. You allow yourselves to be corralled like cattle, mindless. 'Twas only a matter of time before your masters decided you too much trouble and disposed of the problem entirely."

"You might be right about that," Rayne said, chuckling. "I was aware of the control the Chantry and templars exerted, and continue to exert, over us. I know they censor knowledge that doesn't agree with their worldview, that they silence dissidents with Tranquility. Still, it offers protection, home, knowledge… And those who know the system well enough can change it from within."

"Indeed? And were you one of these supposedly heroic mages, working to better the plight of his fellow mage?"

"No…" Rayne admitted. "Not me. I liked to keep my head down, not make waves. I had a friend, Jaime, who would be much better suited to this life. _He_ was the revolutionary. _He_ was the one who joined the Libertarians the day after his Harrowing. It should have been him."

"From your description, I find myself agreeing. Though you were chosen to become a Grey Warden; why?"

Rayne's fist clenched in anger. "Good question. I… put my faith in someone I shouldn't have, and Duncan gave me a choice between Aeonar and the Grey Wardens. Greagoir didn't let him take Jaime as well, despite wanting both of us."

"Aha! You see, that was your problem. Trusting another. Friendship, loyalty, faith… none of that matters. Power is what matters. Survival is what matters. And 'twould seem you learned your lesson well," said Morrigan, smiling smugly.

"Maybe… or maybe— Hey, wait, didn't I ask you about shapeshifting? How'd we get here?"

Morrigan chuckled mischievously. "'Twould appear magic is not the only thing I learned from my mother."

* * *

"Cailan is dead. Loghain's forces were the only ones to escape, and the darkspawn amass in the south," Nathaniel told Keegan, tossing him the bottle of wine he procured from the barkeep at the Spoiled Princess. He then turned to Felix and threw him a mabari crunch, which he devoured hungrily before whining for more.

"Interesting," Keegan said, like he'd just learned what the weather was looking like today. "Denerim, then? To petition Loghain and Anora?"

"That _would_ make sense," Nathaniel winced as Keegan poured him a glass of the Orlesian red he found, "…if my father wasn't the new Arl of Denerim."

"Arl of Denerim, Arl of Amaranthine and Teyrn of Highever. Quite the impressive set of titles," Keegan said, bemused. "I wasn't aware that was possible."

"It usually isn't, but father seems to have seized the vacancy left by the Kendalls. Still, I don't think we can trust anyone who allies himself with my father."

"A good thought. But Anora is still in the capital and alive, is she not? She is sure to reign Loghain in if your father has any… Undue influence over him."

Unable to meet Keegan's serene icy gaze, Nathaniel said, scarcely louder than a whisper: "If I am any indication, I don't think we should count on that."

Contemplating that for a second, Keegan seemed to come to a decision. "We'll avoid the north, then. Anything under your father's or Loghain's control could pose a danger, which means Gwaren too. I'll send a letter to Anora, however, informing her of what happened. And though I am loathe to see either Eamon or Isolde again, we will set off for Redcliffe on the morrow."

"I was thinking the same thing. But how will you get a letter to Anora? Will the Queen's mail not be intercepted and read?"

"The Queen's will, yes. But a letter from Félix Larochelle," Keegan explained, scratching his own Felix, "addressed to the Queen's Orlesian handmaiden, written in Orlesian, from her former Orlesian lover, will not."

"You would trust an Orlesian maidservant?"

"No, but I would trust the Queen's personal bard," Keegan responded, something resembling a human emotion finally appearing on his face in the form of a slight smirk. "You have a lot to learn about our beloved Queen, Nate."

* * *

They were about an hour out of Lothering when they came upon what was certainly the strangest thing Rayne had encountered today, though far from the strangest thing he had encountered since leaving the Circle. Rayne heard it before he saw it: the sound of an angry dog, struggling against attackers. That, and… was that the crackle of magic? Before the mages could react, Alistair and Mercy already took off running. Maker, Mercy was an intimidating woman.

By the time Rayne caught up, the battle was almost half over, but it was a most curious sight. The Wardens were cleaving their way through a group of darkspawn to make their way to an angry dog and two… Dalish elves?! One had short black hair and bright beautiful green eyes; she was casting powerful Dalish magic that either immobilized or skewered the darkspawn with blades of grass-turned-vines. On her back were some straps that helped her drag around… Another elf? On the ground, there was young elven girl with sweaty and matted brown hair. She was strapped to a crude stretcher of leather and wood. Her skin was pale and her lips and eyelids were beginning to blacken: she was in the terminal stages of blight sickness. On the other side of the unconscious elf was a mabari with brown fur, a mabari that seemed… familiar to Rayne. Could it be?

The Dalish mage yelling "May the Dread Wolf take you!" to a decapitated hurlock snapped Rayne out of his little trance, and reminded him where he was. Taking a deep breath, he tapped his staff into the ground and his blue spell wisp vibrated excitedly. From the staff's base, a clear, slippery coating coalesced over the dirt and the grass, creating a circle around his fellow Wardens and the Dalish elves, and causing most of the encroaching darkspawn to lose their footing and comically fall to the ground. The comedic effect did lot last long, however, as with another tap of his staff, the grease sparked and ignited, immolating the remaining darkspawn and filling the air with their bloodcurdling and monstrous screams.

"Um, Rayne? Alistair called from inside the ring of fire. "Do you mind putting out the rest of the fire? It's getting a little too hot for my liking."

"Just wait a second! The grease should be burned up soon enough."

"We don't have time for that!" came a voice from inside the fire that would be adorable if it wasn't so anguished. The fire was immediately extinguished as a wave of cold energy blasted out from the Dalish mage. "You're Grey Wardens! Unless you're just wearing their armour, but that wouldn't make very much sense…"

"We are," Mercy responded. "Why?"

"I need your help! My clan mate has become tainted, and our Keeper said becoming a Grey Warden was the only cure, so I came to find you!"

"That's true," Alistair responded, "but I'm afraid we can't recruit her right now."

"Why not?! She is a skilled warrior; I'll vouch for her! By the Creators, she's singlehandedly saved our clan more times than I can count! And me! She won't let you down, I promise!"

 _By the Creators?_ Rayne thought. _Oh, a new curse to use!_

"For what it's worth, we believe you," Mercy said, apparently speaking for the group now. "It's not a matter of letting or not letting her in, but having the means to do so. We don't have the… necessary ingredients to cure her right now."

"See?" Morrigan whispered to Rayne as they approached the others, even laughing a little bit. "Useless attachments do naught but reduce one to a simpering fool. Pathetic."

At this point, the mabari from Ostagar came to excitedly greet Rayne and his strange new companion, ecstatic that he had found his new master again.

"Then when will you have them?! Our healer kept her alive this long, but she is fading. She needs your help! Please!" Merrill continued, tears flowing freely now.

"Nowhere near soon enough to help her," Alistair said sadly.

"We're sorry, my lady," Mercy added, putting a hand on the Dalish mage's shoulder as she fell to her knees.

"NO! All this, for nothing," she said between sobs. "No… _ma halani_ , Creators! _Emma ir abelas._ "

Morrigan approached the others as a wolf does dying prey, a small smile on her lips, before turning her attention to the sobbing mage. "Well, well, what have we— WHAT?!"

"Morrigan, that isn't a real sentence. But I get it, I do. Growing up in the Wilds must have made it hard to learn proper speech," Alistair joked, but what Rayne saw on her face gave him pause: it was fear, concern, trepidation. And, in an instant, that expression gone, and Morrigan was as stone-faced as she ever had been.

Once again all business, she started barking orders like she was a fade spirit of Command personified. "Alistair, fetch a cup. Rayne, I need lyrium. Mercy, draw some darkspawn blood," Morrigan said as she started rifling through her pack and opening a hidden compartment.

"Hey! Who made you the—"

"Alistair," Rayne cut him off. "Do as she says."

Alistair gulped and began his search for a cup.

Morrigan took out a small rectangular box of obsidian, cast an incantation on it and then took a small key out of a compartment in her necklace to open it. Inside was a collection of herbs, some that Rayne recognized, and some that he did not. She crushed a few up and dropped them into Alistair's cup, Rayne and Mercy following suit.

Realizing what she was trying to do, Rayne cautioned "Morrigan, I don't think this will work. We don't have—"

"Yes," she simply said. "I do."

With that, she revealed the false bottom of her small box, uncovering a small black vial tinged with crimson violet.

"Is that what I think…?" Rayne asked.

"Later, Rayne," Mercy said as Morrigan let a single droplet of archdemon blood fall into the wooden cup, which was already beginning to dissolve. "Alistair, help me prop her up," Mercy commanded, walking with Alistair to grab one of Enid's arms as Morrigan stepped forward.

"I am sorry, old friend," Morrigan said with something resembling regret. She held the cup up to the unconscious elf's lips and forced it down. "From this moment forth, you… are a Grey Warden."

* * *

"There's no end to them!" Carver exclaimed, rather unhelpfully, his brown eyes darting between all of the darkspawn surrounding them. Christopher contemplated his destiny silently, rallying all of his mana for one last strike against the darkspawn. He couldn't save Bethany, but he could ensure the rest of them escaped.

It turns out he needn't have bothered, however. As if out of legend, a great High Dragon descended upon the darkspawn from the heavens, burning them all to a cinder. It landed, and crushed the remaining stragglers with its tail and claws, before transforming into a curious old woman with reality-defying hair, golden eyes, red leather armour, and silverite bracers and boots. Surrounded by flames, she walked leisurely towards what was left of the Hawke family and smiled a sinister smile before opening her mouth.

"Well, well, what have we here?"


	7. Ebost Issala Tal-Vashoth!

**Chapter 6:** _ **Ebost Issala Tal-Vashoth!**_

Diala didn't see the point of all this. She was going to die anyways, and Bodahn wasn't going be able to get a single red copper from her body, no matter how much he imagined she was worth. Her time had come, and delaying it by coming to the surface on some fool's errand to find the stone-damned Wardens wasn't going to change a thing. Ah, well. At least surface ale tasted good. It was like father always said: "you have to blow off the dust to find the vein of silver". Father. She hoped he was okay. She didn't miss Orzammar, but by Ancestors did she miss her father.

"You good there, Dee?" Mayrin asked a swaying Diala. His deep blue eyes showed more kindness than she had been raised to expect from a casteless, and more than most of the nobles she'd ever met.

"Yeah. I mean, other than the nausea, dizziness and burning feeling in my entire body. Really, this slow wasting away is _so_ much better than dying a good death in the Deep Roads."

"Don't worry, Princess! We'll find the Grey Wardens soon!" Bodahn said for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"For the last time, Bodahn I'm not a Princess! Sod Orzammar and its politics." She felt the pent up rage from since her exile bubbling inside her. "And you know what, Bodahn?! Sod the Grey Wardens! They're all dead now anyways!" Diala was standing now, and all of Dane's Refuge was looking at the crazy pale dwarf and her compatriots. "And for that matter, sod the surface and sod the darkspawn and sod the taint and, most of all, sod you, you stupid, smooth-talking deepstalker! You should've let me die in the Deep Roads! You— You should've let me die with honor, dammit…" she said, quieter.

"Well exca-use me," came a cultured voiced voice from the entrance. "I think we're pretty great. And if I do say so myself, we don't look half-bad for dead people."

Diala and her compatriots looked to see two well-armed individuals enter the tavern. One was human and had dirty blonde hair, a nice stubble and tan skin. He was wearing heavy Grey Warden armor and had a silverite blade and shield of fine make on his back. He was fairly well-muscled, and even handsome… For a human, that is. The thing behind him was another matter entirely. Having to duck as not to hit its massive horns on the doorway, its form towered over everyone in the Refuge. It had grey skin and violet eyes, and was also wearing Grey Warden heavy armor with a helmet that had been modified to fit around its horns. At it carried a longsword on either hip, and gave its compatriot a playful smack on the head after his comment.

An angry-looking man in fine armor stepped forward and said: "Well, look what we have here, men. I think we have just been blessed."

Diala looked over at Mayrin to see he already had his handaxe out, and Diala grabbed her sword too. If the legends were to be believed, the Wardens wouldn't need help, but Diala hadn't killed anything in a long time.

* * *

Enid was confused, to say the least. Last she could remember, she was at that mirror with Tamlen, and now? Cut off from the clan with Merrill, traveling with a flat-ear and a _shemlen_ mage, and, if the dreams were to be believed, she was a Grey Warden? She took a deep breath and took in her surroundings, appreciating the fresh air. The _shemlen_ village had cold, stone, buildings, to be sure, but she was quite impressed with vast open space and surrounding farmlands. Those _shemlen_ , at least, understood and respected the land.

"So that… monster? That was the archdemon?" the 18-year-old Enid asked upon waking, her stoic voice betraying none of the fear she felt inside.

"It was. Or is, rather. That's why Grey Wardens exist. We fight the Blight, wherever and however we can," the flat-ear explained. Until now, only him and Merrill had spoken, while the _shemlen_ witch just regarded her curiously.

"So… I can't go back to the clan?" she asked, instinctively tying her straight hair chestnut brown hair into a ponytail.

"Technically, you could," the flat-ear said uncertainly, "but truth be told, we need all the help we can get."

"And even if we were not indebted to these Grey Wardens, the Keeper took the clan north to Sundermount."

"We, Merrill? They saved my life, not yours'. You need not stay with me."

"Need? No, I suppose not, but I will, I think. Where else would I go? Could you imagine me navigating human society alone?" she responded, chuckling at the thought.

"Then I suppose it is settled," Enid said, sitting up on the grass. "I swear to you before my First and all my Creators that I will do my best to uphold the will of Mythal and do my duty to protect you— and all the land— from the Blight, and make the Dalish proud," Enid said with conviction in her blue eyes.

"The oath is unnecessary, but appreciated, Enid. We're just happy to have you— and Merrill— along for the ride," Rayne said before ducking his head and holding his hands over it when he heard a bee buzz by his ears, only yelping slightly.

At that point, Morrigan scoffed scornfully, rolling her eyes.

"I understand you are to thank for saving me," Enid said. "Might I ask your name, so I can thank you properly?"

"You may call me Morrigan, if you must."

Hearing her voice caused something of an epiphany in the young Dalish warrior.

"Well… thank you, Morrigan. I— I know you from somewhere, don't I?"

"Possibly."

"No, no, I do. We've met; I swear."

Rolling her eyes, Morrigan admitted reluctantly: "'Tis true, but 'twas many years ago. I am surprised you remember."

"You were one of the only _shemlen_ I ever saw growing up. Even if you seldom visited, and only watched me from the trees, your golden eyes are not something I'd soon forget. Why did you stop visiting?"

"I grew up, and stopped caring about such frivolous things."

"Frivolous things like my life? You didn't think it was so frivolous yesterday. Why did you save me then?" Enid teased.

Morrigan stood up from the greenery and started towards the Dane's Refuge and turned back for a moment, regaining all of the composure Enid was causing to slip. "'Twas to spite my mother, elf. Not everything is about you, as much as you Dalish like to believe otherwise."

"Don't believe her," Rayne whispered to Enid. "She cares, in her own weird Morrigan way. At least, she cares about you more than the rest of us combined, which isn't necessarily saying a lot…"

"Her mother? Why does she hate her mother so much? Is that a human thing?" Merrill asked as Morrigan left.

"You would, too, if your mother was Flemeth," Rayne responded. "Or, if Brother Genitivi spelled it correctly, your people call her… Achoo… No… Asha'Bellanar."

"What?!"

* * *

"More crazy? I thought we were all full up," the male Warden said when the one with the horns agreed to let the Chantry sister join them.

"I hope there's no quota on that, _salroka_ ," Mayrin shouted as he walked down the stairs, "because I've got a deal you just can't refuse!"

"Is that so?" he reponded, amused with the offer. "What can you offer me? A lifetime supply of cheese? A dozen mabari?"

Momentarily flummoxed by the Grey Warden's flippancy, Mayrin snapped out of it to pick up right where he left off. "Even better!" Mayrin promised, reminding himself that he'd also have to watch what his mouth was doing during this pitch. He still wasn't used to not having a beard to cover it. Made schmoozing just a little bit harder. "I can offer you two Grey Warden recruits, your own personal enchanter, and a fine and upstanding dwarven merchant! But wait, that's not even the best part! On our travels, we came across a control rod for a golem, an indestructible dwarven weapon of old, located right here in Ferelden." Diala snickered at that bit about Bodahn, but Mayrin didn't blame her. He _was_ laying it on a little thick.

"Two, Mr. Brosca?" Bodahn whispered, annoyed, clearly not wanting to give his best employee to the Wardens. Well, that's what he got for giving Diala fancy armour for free but telling Mayrin he'd have to "earn" his, like he hadn't already. Mayrin had no reason to stay loyal, and there wasn't a thing Feddic could do about it.

"What's the catch?" the grey one asked, raising her eyebrows skeptically and crossing her arms.

"Catch? There isn't one. Well, not really. All we need is a cure for the blight sickness, and we will be at your service."

"I think that sounds wonderful! Dwarves have the most experience fighting darkspawn. They will be an asset, no?" the Chantry sister contributed.

"Leliana, I'm happy you're taking initiative, but you literally _just_ joined us," Mercy said, apparently not able to decide whether she was annoyed or amused. "I'll be making the decisions around here. That being said…" the qunari continued, turning back to the dwarves. "Yeah, she's right. Come with me; we'll get you your cure immediately. This is a Blight, and we need all the help we can get."

* * *

"Perhaps. What does your wisdom say is equal to my crime?" the qunari asked.

"You could help me defend the land against Blight."

"The Blight? Are you a Grey Warden then?"

"I am."

"Surprising. My people have heard legends of the Grey—"

And then everything changed. The caged qunari had been nothing but calm so far, but immediately roared and started shaking the bars of his cage.

"Whoa!" Rayne yelped, jumping backwards and nearly falling onto his bottom. "What's wrong, big guy?"

"Is this normal for qunari to do? Maybe this is his language. Oh! I wonder if we could learn it! Ahh! Raaahhh! Grrr!" Merrill contributed excitedly. Garahel, Rayne's new mabari, barked in agreement.

"I think that's my fault, Merrill," Mercy called out, walking towards them with Alistair and Morrigan. And four dwarves and a Chantry sister?

Rayne's wisp reacted to the female dwarf the same way it had to Enid. She was tainted, but looking at her, you couldn't tell. Not like Enid. It was likely that her dwarven constitution was a contributing factor, but her sheer force of will no doubt had more to do with it. She was tough and powerful-looking despite her stature, and wore fine dwarven armor full of hard geometric lines and intricate runes. On her back was a dwarven greatsword as tall as she was, and her shoulder-length blonde hair flowed freely, framing her pale skin and deep brown eyes very well. The other armed companion wore dwarven armor as well, but nowhere near as expensive as her's. He had much darker skin, and short curly black hair. A black tattoo sat underneath each of his deep blue eyes, and his beard was short, frankly, pathetic compared to the beards Rayne saw illustrated in codices back at the tower.

 _"Ebost issala tal-vashoth!"_ Sten screamed in a language none of them understood, rattling the bars of his cage so much Rayne was concerned they would break.

 _"Shanedan, sten,"_ Mercy responded calmly. "And I'm just _vashoth,_ not _tal-vashoth_. I was born outside of your precious qun," she added, smiling.

 _"Vashedan,"_ Sten responded, nearly spitting the word at Mercy.

"Thanks, buddy," Mercy said, walking right up to him and standing a few inches above the already-gigantic creature. The two stared at each other, saying nothing, before Rayne broke the silence.

"A few seconds ago, you were ready to follow _bas_ , even _bas sarebaas_ , in order to seek your atonement. Yet you cannot follow a forthright soldier who has lived as a good Fereldan citizen her entire life, someone who cannot be blamed for rejecting the qun if she never learned about it in the first place?"

"You speak sense Warden, but I cannot follow her. It is not done."

 _"Asala,"_ Mercy said, the realization dawning on her. Sten said nothing.

"What? I'm sorry, Mercy, but I'm a bit lost here," Alistair said.

"So am I, but don't worry. This is so fascinating!" Merrill added.

"Sten. So you were part of the _antaam,_ were you not?"

"I still am."

"But you aren't, are you? Not without your sword. You're not even qunari anymore. Unless it's hiding somewhere in your cage…"

"What? He's a qunari all the time, isn't he?" Enid asked, honestly more than a bit confused by all of this.

"Not right now. He's soulless. A deserter. Even if you accomplish whatever your _arishok_ sent you to do, you cannot report back."

"What is your point, _bas_?"

" _Bas_ now? Interesting. What if I promised you we'd find _asala_? To give you back your soul? Would that be a satisfactory reason to follow a _vashoth_?"

"Such a thing cannot be promised," Sten said, pausing for a moment. "However, it speaks well of you to make the offer. Very well, Warden, I will follow you. For now."


	8. Salacious Gossip

_Notes: Thank you for the reviews, Judy! Appreciate it! Thanks for everyone else that has read this far! Let me know what you think!  
_

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Salacious Gossip**

"'Tis not your concern what secrets I may or may not be keeping, qunari," Morrigan insisted.

"It is my concern if you have knowledge that can help us against the Blight!" Mercy yelled, furious now.

"Like, say, the recipe for the Joining or its ingredients, for example," Alistair added, happy to be part of the brigade against Morrigan.

"And I do," Morrigan added, looking up at Mercy unintimidated. "But you forget, Warden: I am here of my own volition, and could leave any time I wished. I will share what I know when I find it pertinent to share, or not at all. If this displeases you, I will take my leave now," Morrigan said, refusing to break eye contact with Mercy, challenging the qunari to contradict her.

"Fine," Mercy said, rolling her eyes. "Just make sure you stay useful. How many more could Join before you'd be required to restock?"

"I am unsure. The herbs are common enough, and I would say the archdemon blood would be sufficient for a maximum of a dozen more Wardens, perhaps fewer."

"Very well. That is sufficient." Mercy turned to the veritable crowd the Wardens had amassed to aid them in the Blight. "We will march tomorrow morning. Welcome to Wardens Brosca, Mahariel and… Does Diala have a last name, Mayrin?"

"Indeed she does, Ser Hissera. It's Aed—"

"She'll tell you if she wants, but may wanna keep you in suspense a little bit longer," Mayrin interrupted, giving Bodahn a threatening look. "Isn't that right, Feddic?"

"Suspense? Oh, exciting!" Alistair exclaimed.

"And Merrill?" Enid asked. "Last chance: you do not have to stay here if you don't want. You are free to go, really."

"No, I don't think so. I'll stay. I have to make sure one of our greatest young clanswomen doesn't get herself killed, especially after I worked so hard to save her."

" _Ma serannas_ , _lethallan._ "

"It will be so exciting to have two Dalish elves traveling with us! And two qunari! We could all learn much from one another, yes?"

"One qunari," Sten corrected her.

"I agree with Leliana," Rayne said. "Welcome, all."

"Now," Mercy said, turning to Bodahn. "Apparently, Wardens are outlawed in Ferelden, so going around in Warden armour wouldn't be the smartest decision. I assume you have armour for Alistair and I (and possibly Enid?), and robes for Rayne?"

"Armour for me? Why? Mine is perfectly satisfactory, and if the _shemlen_ don't like it, they're welcome to take it up with me," Enid said, hugging her emerald ironbark armor and shield.

"Of course, Enid. Apologies. Bodahn?"

"Indeed! I'm sure you'll be pleased with the goods my boy and I have collected! And with your discount!"

Mayrin couldn't supress his laugh at that. Feddic's discount was… Suspect, at best.

* * *

Father had returned today, with grave news. Anora was allowed to mourn in private, but still had to be the stalwart queen Ferelden needed when in public. She spent the morning burying herself in her work, writing and responding to letters both inane and important, but was interrupted when she heard an urgent knock at the door.

"Yes?"

A familiar Orlesian accent called through the door "It is Erlina, Your Majesty, and I have news."

"Come in, Erlina."

The raven-haired elf stepped lithely into the room, bowing deeply to her queen. The room was warm and inviting, various Fereldan tapestries hanging on the walls and a beautiful crimson rug adorning the oak floor. Her bookshelf was overflowing with books, and the precision with which her desk was organized told one everything they needed to know about the queen.

Anora smiled fondly at her right-hand woman. "How was your evening, Erlina?"

"It was perfectly acceptable, Your Majesty," Erlina said, automatically checking every crevice or nook in which a spy, informant, assassin or even magical device might be hidden. "Though I received some interesting news from a friend of mine back home."

"Indeed?" Anora said, feigning disinterest. "Salacious gossip?"

At this point, Erlina was climbing out of the queen's window onto the battlements to look for things of the same nature as before, calling back in: "Not exactly, Your Majesty. An old flame, actually: Félix Larochelle."

That gave Anora pause, but she did her best not to show it. "That's wonderful news! Tell me all about it!"

At this point, Erlina slipped back into the room from outside, and sealed and locked her window, closing the curtains as well, all of her feigned enthusiasm disappearing along with Anora's.

"Keegan? He is alive?"

Finally sitting down, Erlina responded: "Indeed, Your Majesty, but his news is grave. He now travels with Nathaniel Howe, and they are en route to Redcliffe."

"The eldest? This confirms my suspicions. The Couslands… were not guilty of treason, were they?"

" _Non._ Not according to Lord Keegan, Majesty. Arl Howe acted without provocation. Here is the letter, in cipher. I will be outside your door to keep watch while you read it. _Assurez-vous_ to—"

"Burn it when I am finished," Anora finished, chuckling. "I _did_ learn a few things from you, after all."

" _Bien sûr. Je suis désolée_ , Your Majesty."

"Do not worry, Erlina. I will call for you when I am finished. It will take awhile to recall the cipher, so do ensure to bring something to read while you are on guard."

"Take your time, Your Majesty," Erlina smiled. "I have already made arrangements to send your response off to our people in Redcliffe as soon as you are ready."

Anora nodded happily as Erlina bowed low and left the room. Leave it to Keegan Cousland to take her mind off the death of her husband.

* * *

The Wardens and their companions spent the better part of the day doing odd jobs around Lothering in order to pay for Bodahn's "discounted" armor. Enid never thought becoming a Grey Warden would entail chores for the human Chantry, but at least the tasks were fulfilling. It felt good to protect some people, human or elf, no matter how fruitless an endeavor it might ultimately prove to be. She regretted that her and Merrill had no halla to join them, but understood when Merrill told her they had refused to come any farther south. Enid wondered how long Merrill had dragged her on foot.

"I don't know how much more of these I can take," Alistair said, deflecting a bear claw with his shield. "It's becoming… Un **bear** able!"

"Are all humans like this?" Enid asked Mercy, slicing through a giant spider with Rage's End.

"No, but you get used to him," Mercy chuckled, decapitating a black bear.

"I'm right here, you know! Stop teasing! I can't **bear** it!"

"I can't blame him," Mayrin yelled, driving his axe into a wolf's head. "If we had these in Orzammar, I'd have been doing the same thing the whole time! Brontos don't give you enough opportunity."

He could hear Leliana chuckle at that as she loosed some more arrows, Sten merely grunting in dissatisfaction.

Enid just met these people, and she still wasn't sure that they weren't all out of their collective minds, but she liked them well enough. Not only that, but they saved her, something for which she would be forever grateful. She wouldn't fail them, not like Tamlen. By Mythal, she would protect these people from whatever came their way.


	9. Reluctant Heirs

**Chapter 8: Reluctant Heirs**

"I fail to see the point of this "exchange" you are suggesting, Surana," Morrigan complained. "I can learn nothing from you, and you therefore have nothing to exchange."

Rayne had called a little conclave of the mages before the big meeting tonight in order to finally satiate his curiosity. He couldn't keep it in check anymore, and his wisp vibrated with anticipation of the prospect. They were out in a farmer's field and secluded enough that no one would see them practicing their magic.

"And as much as I would _love_ to learn from you, I'm a little bit hesitant to teach a Circle mage old elven magic."

"Even a fellow elf? I may be a flat-ear, but I'm also a Grey Warden. We need whatever tools we can to stop the Blight," Rayne said, looking directly into Merrill's eyes. "Teaching me would help preserve traditions dating back to the days of Arlathan, and I could show the Circle just how valuable Keeper Magic is."

"That sounds… Acceptable. But, for some reason, I find myself agreeing with Morrigan: what would you give us?"

"Both of you are primarily primal or entropic casters, with one or two spirit spells, correct? (and your respective areas of specialization, of course)."

"Oh. I guess we are! I had never noticed that. Why do you think that is, Morrigan?"

"I do not know, neither do I care. What is your point, Warden?"

"However, neither of you can cast a single creation spell, not even the smallest heal. Did you never learn how? Morrigan, for someone so focused on survival, that seems counterintuitive. And Merrill, if Genitivi's writings are to be believed, a Keeper is responsible for the well-being of the clan. But how can you do that without healing magic?"

"I know that, _lethallin_! But I never learned how! I just couldn't figure it out," Merrill responded, ashamed.

"Indeed. Despite my aptitude for other schools, Flemeth was never able to teach me healing. She always said it was a difficult school, but I am nearly certain 'twas just another way for her to exert control," Morrigan reflected.

Rayne smiled triumphantly. "There's a reason for both of those things. From what I've seen and read, Dalish magic is based more on instinct and training than hard academic study, and, Morrigan, despite your mother's power, there is no guarantee that she was a good teacher, or that she was honest about what she was teaching, as you said. However, the Circle mages do nothing _but_ study, and those studies have borne fruit. It's made learning creation magic much easier in Circles than from any other source in Thedas. I think the logic was along the lines of: how can you be expected to heal a body if you have no idea how it works?"

"'Tis… logical, what you are saying. You propose teaching us this?"

"I can do you one better," Rayne said, reaching into his pack and producing codices of vellum each containing the same information. "I spent all night working on these. They contain detailed diagrams of human, elven and dwarven bodies, and their inner workings and systems. It also contains the theory behind rudimentary healing spells based on this knowledge. Would this be… acceptable?"

Merrill grabbed at her's greedily, thumbing through it excitedly. "This is amazing… If a little bit scary," Merrill said upon seeing the diagrams.

Smirking slightly, Morrigan relented as well. "'Tis… acceptable. Now, pay attention: the first and most basic form you will learn is that of the crow…"

* * *

So Diala not-Aeducan was a Grey Warden now. Nice. Better than nice, actually. Deep Roads expeditions that led to killing darkspawn were her favourite things about living in Orzammar, and she had just joined an order that existed for no reason other than to kill darkspawn. All things considered, she might have to thank Bhelen for getting her exiled and nearly killed.

Sitting up in Bodahn's caravan, she took a second to process how she felt post-Joining. The burning was gone; indeed, and any indication she had once had Blight sickness was gone. Diala felt better than ever. Donning her casual clothes, she stepped out of the caravan to join her new companions. They had made camp outside Lothering and were currently sitting around the fire, engrossed in conversation. The human warrior was the first to notice her and waved happily.

"Diala! Come grab a seat! Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine, thank you," she responded.

"Dee!" Mayrin called. "Come grab a seat!"

Diala obliged him and sat between him and the Chantry sister, now outfitted with combat leathers and a bow. She smiled kindly, her blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

"Good. We're all here," Mercy said decisively, standing up so that everyone could hear her. With her helmet off, her long white hair reached past her shoulders and grey around her massive horns, one of which were modeling a shining gold ring.

"Rayne, Alistair and I have made some decisions. We will be pursuing the ancient Grey Warden treaties written in Blights past, but because of Teyrn Loghain's insistence to outlaw the Wardens, we will need some political allies as well. I will lead a group to West Hills to seek aid from Arl Wulff, my former Arl, who was always a good and righteous man. On the way, my group will also investigate the village of Honnleath, because the promise of a golem is too good to pass up. Rayne will lead a group to Kinloch Hold, as the mages will be our most valuable weapon in this Blight. Lastly, Alistair and his team will go to Redcliffe, where Arl Eamon sits in power. If the knight in the Chantry is to be believed, Arl Eamon is sick. After our missions are fulfilled, we will converge on Redcliffe in a month's time to plan our next move. Objections?"

"No. Your plan seems sensible."

"Depends on your teams," Mayrin said honestly.

Mercy nodded. "I'll be bringing Morrigan and Mayrin. Alistair will travel with Diala, Leliana and Merrill, as well as Bodahn and Sandal, who seemed keen to ply their trade in Redcliffe. Lastly, Rayne will take Enid and Sten to the Circle Tower with him, and will probably come back with at least one more recruit, as well as the mages, right Rayne?"

"Right. I have a friend of mine who was jealous I was allowed to come with Duncan. Wardens, don't forget: we may invoke the Right of Conscription at any time, and there is no better time than this. We have the means to Join perhaps a dozen more Wardens, and we will try to procure more materials for the Joining. Anybody you think may help against the Blight is worth taking. Thieves, knight, murderers, guards… Even templars," he said, chuckling a bit to himself.

"Good point, Rayne. Please remember that your personal feelings are secondary to stopping the Blight. Any worthwhile enemy should be offered mercy, and the chance to Join the Wardens. Killing them all is a waste."

"There is some qunari in you after all, _vashoth,_ " the male qunari said to Mercy in what must have been his version of a compliment.

"Wait a sec," Mayrin interrupted. "You've met this Wulff guy, but what about Eamon? Why do we think he'll help us?"

"Alistair has had… dealings with him in the past. He is apparently a just and fair man, and holds a lot of sway in the landsmeet." Seeing a lot of confusion on the faces of her elven, dwarven and qunari companions, Mercy elaborated: "The nobles. He's a popular noble." That cleared things up.

Alistair looked at Mercy and smiled, before saying: "It's okay. I was raised by Arl Eamon, and I know Redcliffe well."

"You're his son, then?" Diala asked, still trying to wrap around her head around all these human terms for deshyr. "You're noble?"

Mercy looked at Alistair not unsympathetically, before he sighed and said: "No. My father is— was King Maric. I was raised in secret by Arl Eamon until I moved to the monastery."

Leliana gasped. "Maric the Saviour?! That is… that is wonderful! A dashing Rebel Prince, fighting not only to save the land from the darkspawn but to save his throne from usurpers! This would make quite the tale."

"No! No no no. That's exactly what I _don't_ want. Neither Maric nor Cailan ever acknowledged me or named me heir, and I'm happier that way. Queen Anora should keep her throne; it's just Loghain we have to worry abouut. And Grey Wardens can't hold titles, anyways, so it's a moot point. "

There were a lot of shocked faces around them. The Dalish were mostly confused, but everyone else was quite surprised at having a prince in their midst. Mayrin, however, was looking at Diala expectantly. Damn that noble duster. Diala exhaled dramatically, walking forward so everyone could see her.

"Alistair isn't the only royal scion in the midst, sadly," Diala said.

"My lady, do you really think this is the best idea?" Bodahn asked.

Ignoring him, she continued: "My name used to be Diala Aeducan, second child of Endrin Aeducan, the King of Orzammar." "Used to be?" Merrill asked. "You can't just change your family name, can you? Or, do dwarves do that often? That wasn't offensive, was it?"

Diala chuckled. "No, it wasn't. Dwarves don't often lose their family names, but it can and does happen…"

Diala explained everything as well as she could, often having to stop to clarify the meanings of terms like caste or deshyr. Everyone except Sten and Mayrin were enraptured by her tale, and she did make sure to put on a performance like she always had for the Assembly, being as dramatic as possible. Bodahn insisted that Diala would be useful in Orzammar and that her father would be amenable to forgiveness, but Diala was uncertain. Furthermore, she didn't want it. Sod the Assembly and sod Orzammar.

After the discussion was over, Rayne broke the silence and asked, only semi-seriously: "Does this mean we have to treat the two of you differently?"

"NO!" the royals said simultaneously, before looking at each other and sharing a hearty chuckle.

* * *

 _Note: Mercy's journey to see Arl Wulff will be taking some of its cues from the Dragon Age TTRG Adventure Blood in Ferelden, but I have decided that they will not be doing the entire adventure, as it would take far too long. I tend to skip over other treaties or allies in the story, as we have all played the game and know what happened, but I'm not sure the same can be said for the RPG, and it would take a disproportionately long time to get through, so they won't be going through all of it._


	10. A Cancer

**Chapter 9: A Cancer**

Mayrin thought humans were tall until he met the qunari. He thought qunari were tall until he met Shale. Mayrin usually hated being proven wrong, but this was even worse. Sodding giants were gonna trip on him if he wasn't careful.

"It lived here? This farm seems a bit… dirty, even for a soft, squishy qunari."

"Well, it's been abandoned for years, Shale," Mercy said, exasperated with their new rocky companion. Mayrin shared a knowing look with Morrigan, both of them happy to not have to deal with Shale. It was useful in combat, but sometimes Mayrin wondered if that usefulness was worth the golem's incessant sass.

"Abandoned? It abandoned its home to become a Grey Warden? That seems illogical. Would it not prefer a quiet life on the farm to a life of constant peril against darkspawn? Though, I suppose that would be quite boring, even for a soft and squishy creature like yourself."

"It… would have, but it— I didn't have a choice," Mercy said, removing her helmet and placing it on the dusty and disused kitchen table.

Mayrin raised his eyebrow, sensing a story there, but thought best to let it lie. The Commander didn't seem to want to discuss it. Morrigan had other ideas, apparently.

"No choice? It seems to me like a strong, powerful creature such as yourself can choose to do whatever she wants."

"Not even I can fight an entire countryside alone, Morrigan," Mercy said tersely, but Morrigan did not abate.

"You cannot just expect us to drop the subject after such a tantalizing statement, Mercy. There is a story you are not telling."

"A child went missing, the other freeholders blamed my parents because they were qunari and then killed them. I escaped. Not much of a story," Mercy said before stomping off to her former bedroom. "I'll see you all in the morning."

"As will I," Shale said to go off and do whatever it did every night while the rest of them slept. Murdering birds, if Mayrin had to guess.

Mayrin, however, wasn't tired, and helped himself to an old bottle of wine he found. The bottle was not terribly expensive looking, but would no doubt be a far cry better than anything in Orzammar. He poured himself a glass and settled into one of the kitchen chairs, taking a long sip of the wine and letting it warm him. It was only when he opened his eyes that he saw Morrigan sitting across from him glaring.

"Problem?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"What? Is the casteless dwarf too proud to pour a glass of wine for the terrifying Witch of the Wilds?"

"The Wilds part isn't the problem. More the witch part. Or bitch, rather."

"Truly?" Morrigan asked, letting out a scornful laugh. "I am given to understand that you were a criminal your entire life, yet you lecture me on morality? That _is_ amusing."

"I did what I had to do to survive, Morrigan."

"As do I. Survival is paramount."

"Survival, yes, but what you just did wasn't survival. It was needlessly cruel. You do things just to hurt people."

"Me? I was simply curious," she chuckled.

"I know it's hard to understand for someone raised by an evil abomination, but usually the loss of one's family is hard."

"Perhaps. But our fearless leader is better for it, is she not? She has nothing to tie her down, and is decisive, powerful and effective. Forcing her to confront and get over the last vestiges of her useless attachment to the relics that raised her can only be a good thing."

"Have you really lived such an empty life, with no love at all?"

"Love?!" she asked, incredulous. "Love is a weakness. Love is a cancer that grows inside and makes one do foolish things. Love is death."

Taking a long sip of his wine, Mayrin considered that for a second.

"I… actually agree with you."

"Aha! I knew you had at least a modicum of intelligence between those hairy ears."

"But _not_ for the reasons you think. You're right: love is a weakness, love _can_ be death, but that weakness makes life worth living. To have nothing that you love, nothing that gives you a reason to do more than just survive? That's not a life I'd wish on my worst enemy, Morrigan."

That gave Morrigan pause, and she did not seem to want to respond. The two of them drank in silence for the rest of the night, Morrigan studying the notes Rayne gave her, and doing all she could not to look at the dwarf across from her.


	11. The Queen of Antiva

**Chapter 10: The Queen of Antiva**

"Is that normal for humans, scavenging through the remains of the dead like that?" Enid asked as they approached Kinloch Hold from the surrounding farm land.

"It would not surprise me," Sten grunted.

"Yeah," Rayne said sadly, pulling his fur cloak over his old yellow mage robes. "I spent the first few years of my life in the Highever Alienage, and that sort of thing was common."

"It's so sad," Enid said. "Are you okay, Sten?"

"Yes. Why would I not be?"

"I just… I know that if I found my clanmates like that, I don't know what I'd do. Even now, I can't stop worrying about Merrill."

"That does nobody any good, neither does dwelling on the past. There is nothing to be done for the shells we found. I survived, and I have learned from the experience. I will honor them by ensuring that it never happens again."

"There… is wisdom in that, Sten. Thank you."

"We're here," Rayne said, nodding at the tower in the distance. Garahel barked in agreement.

Sten regarded it for a moment before saying: "Humans over-compensating as always". Enid couldn't help but laugh at that. Before approaching the docks, Rayne approached an old man in front of the Spoiled Princess Inn.

After a brief chat with the man, Rayne explained to Enid and Sten that they had apparently sealed the Tower, and that the Knight-Commander (whatever that was) wasn't letting anyone in or out. Rayne looked concerned, and annoyed about the prospect of talking to Carroll, the human on the docks.

"Just, wait for a sec, though," Rayne commanded, walking over to a human in purple wearing a stupid-looking hat. After a few minutes of whispered conversation, Rayne took a slip of paper from him and walked away smiling.

"What was that?" Enid asked as they started towards the docks.

"Something I didn't think actually existed until now. That… is good to know."

Enid and Sten followed Garahel and his master to the dock. Rayne looked the templar up and down as his wisp danced excitedly around his head. Enid wondered if the wisp had a mind of its own, or if it just reacted to Rayne's emotions. She had never really understood that much about magic, anyways. That was the Keeper's job.

"Alright, Carroll, I don't really have time for you right now, so here's what's happening: I'm a Grey Warden now, and I need to get to the Tower. You're going to let us across."

"What? I don't know you," Carroll said.

Putting his hand on his forehead, Rayne sighed heavily. "I left the Tower, like, a month ago, Carroll. You know what, never mind. Look at this treaty."

"Yes? Oh, a Grey Warden seal. A-ha. So you're claiming to be one of those! You know, I have some documents, too. They say I'm the Queen of Antiva. What do you think of that?"

"Andraste's heaving bosom! We do _not_ have time for this. That's it. Sten, tear his arms off."

* * *

Rayne wasn't usually like this. He was quiet, contemplative, curious, but generally upbeat. But Enid could tell the uncertainty of the state of his home was really getting to him, and she couldn't blame him. She slid closer to him in the boat and put his bare hand in her armored one, smiling at him sympathetically.

"It will be okay, _lethallin._ Whatever we find, we will face it together, and we will get through it."

" _Ma serannas,_ _lethallan_ ," he responded, surprising Enid with his newly-acquired elvish and squeezing her hand. "But you don't have to do this; comfort me. We only just met, and I think I'm supposed to be your commanding officer or something. Don't worry about me."

"It is nothing. We are both part of the same clan now, the Grey Wardens. And as a clanmate, protecting and reassuring you is my duty."

" _Parshaara,_ we have arrived," Sten said, apparently annoyed by all of the feelings happening.

"Alright," Rayne said, taking a deep breath. "Let's do this."


	12. Our Lady Tabris

_Notes: Thanks again for the reviews Judy! Everyone else that's reading, I hope you're enjoying it! Let me know what you think or if there are ways I could improve! And Zevran is on his way; I haven't forgotten about him, I promise!_

* * *

 **Chapter 11: Our Lady Tabris**

"Really? Neither of you wish to rule?"

"Yes, Merrill," Alistair repeated. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"No! I mean yes. Well, maybe. It's just, well, the Keepers are mostly all descended from the nobility of the Dales, and we have to compete fiercely if we want to become First. Sometimes, mages that weren't nobility compete, just for the honour. I've never met a Dalish mage that didn't want it."

"Well, we don't," Diala said. "I always preferred fighting to ruling. When I'm fighting, I have to be responsible for my unit, but if you rule a thaig— or in Alistair's case, a country— there are too many people relying on you. I can't deal with that responsibility."

"Yes, exactly! Alistair said. "I'm so happy someone else understands!"

"I suppose I see your perspective, Your Majesties," Leliana said teasingly, "but it's just so romantic! An exiled princess? A bastard prince? It is the stuff legends are made of."

"But, as a Grey Warden, are you not responsible for all of Thedas?" Merrill inquired.

"Well, I mean, I suppose but— but that's— it's different," Alistair sputtered. Leliana and Diala both laughed at that, and Leliana crouched to whisper in Diala's ear: "Quite a handsome man, but not much behind those beautiful brown eyes, is there?" It took all Diala had not to burst out laughing at that as they continued to Redcliffe.

* * *

This was _not_ the job Eve signed up for. She could deal with delivery girl, but how did she get roped into saving a whole village of _shemlen_? At least Alfstanna was getting her sovereigns' worth. There was a grand total of one elf in the village, and he was just a shifty drifter. Most of the humans in charge she had met were polite enough, especially bann Teagan, but if one more peasant called her "elf", she could not be held responsible for the injuries they incurred.

The two humans that arrived after her and Irminric were not your average humans, and Eve was yet unsure of what to make of them. Bann Teagan seemed to know and trust them, but his seal of approval didn't mean very much yet either. The one was a grumpy and morose pale man with raven hair and silver eyes, but he treated her with respect, and even called her "my lady". She was still getting used to that. The other one, however, scared her. He had a bit more pigment than his compatriot, with red hair tied into a short ponytail and a chinstrap beard. On his right ear was a golden hoop earring and his eyes were blue and cold like ice. He was kind and deferential enough, but his eyes never smiled with his lips. They were just… Empty. The two of them had leather armor of fine make and finely-crafted longbows.

Eve had just finished carrying a barrel of lamp oil up to their spot when she saw something interesting in the distance as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Approaching were five individuals: a human man in chainmail carrying a sword and shield, a dwarf with some fancy armor and a greatsword, and another human with leather armor, a longbow, daggers, and a sunburst symbol around her neck. On her shoulder was a crow. Behind them was an ox-drawn caravan upon which two more dwarfs were sitting.

"Hey… 'Ric?"

"Yes, my lady? Irminric responded as Eve instinctively put her hands on her new daggers.

"You see that too, right?"

"I do, my lady. Ho there, travelers! Have you come to aid Redcliffe in its time of need?"

"Aid? What's happening here? We've heard Arl Eamon is sick, if that's what you mean," the dwarven woman responded.

"I see. Well, my name is Ser Irminric, and this is my partner, Lady Tabris. We will take you to Bann Teagan. The situation here is grave."

"Bann Teagan? Arl Eamon's brother? He's here?" Alistair asked excitedly as the strange new arrivals followed Eve and her templar companion down the mountain.

* * *

Alistair stood in front of Redcliffe's militia with Diala, weapons drawn and ready. The sun had just set, and the monsters would be here soon, if the villagers were to be believed. Alistair was nervous, but a little excited about being able to wear his Warden armor proudly again. Teagan had even insisted on it. But really, what did he have to be nervous about? Redcliffe had a Cousland, a Guerrin, a Theirin, a Howe, and even an ex-Aeducan to defend it.

He heard them before he saw them, their terrible moaning giving them away before the walking corpses appeared before them.

"Now?" he heard Merrill ask Keegan.

"Wait," the Cousland said, eyes set on the corpses. He waited a few more seconds for more of them to gather in one place before shouting, "NOW, MERRILL!"

Merrill's eyes flashed green for a second, drawing on all of her mana and, with a deafening thunderclap, a bolt of lightning from the heavens struck the barrels of oil, causing a massive explosion and lighting the ground aflame, incinerating a good number of the corpses.

"Archers!" Keegan yelled as he, Leliana, Nathaniel and some of the villagers drew their bows. "Loose!" A torrent of arrows was unleashed on the monsters, felling even more.

"Ready, Your Highness?" Alistair asked Diala with a smirk on his face.

"You bet your ass I am, Your Highness," Diala responded, leveling her sword at the approaching monsters. Maker, she was cool.

"Militia!" Keegan roared over the sound of corpses dying (again) in agony. "Charge!"

Alistair flew into battle like a bastion of pure destruction, leaving naught but remains in his wake. Diala fought beside him, ferociously cutting swaths through the enemy and matching Alistair corpse for corpse. Merrill's vines grasping the stragglers made them easy for the rest of the militia to cut down, and any corpses that they missed, Leliana or the noble boys would pick off with their arrows. This was going… really well, honestly. That is, until the knight approached.

"The monsters are attacking from the lake! They're attacking the barricades! We need help!"

Without hesitation, Diala yelled: "Leliana, Alistair, Merrill: let's go! They have this handled!" as she started off down the mountain path, faster than any of them despite her small stature and heavy armor.

What they found at the bottom of the hill was pure chaos. Unlike the knights and militiamen at the top of the hill, these people had no training, no real military or combat experience, and it showed. They were being cut down left and right, the walking dead feasting upon their still-living forms. Their two saving graces were Ser Irminric, his templar armor nearly completely obscured by the mass of corpses with which he was contending, and Eve, her nimble form ducking and weaving its way through the crowd, daggers making quick work of any unlucky enough to find themselves in her path.

"Merrill!" Diala yelled as she tore into the corpses before her. "Forget about the corpses; these men need healing!"

"I— Okay. I'll try my best," Merrill said, running towards the nearest downed man she found.

"Alistair!" Irminric called, downing a lyrium potion. "The creatures are vulnerable to our smites!" As if to demonstrate his point, the corpses before him fell in an explosion of holy light.

"Good to know!" Alistair yelled, bashing the corpse in front of him with his shield. He mustered all of the energy he could and unleashed a smite on a group of corpses surrounding the mayor.

"I think that's all of them!" Murdoch said. "Thank you, Grey Wardens. We—"

"No!" the elven woman yelled as an enraged corpse charged towards the mayor, claws about to tear into his neck. She leapt to intercept the blow, the corpse's claws reaching deep into her abdomen.

"EVE!" Irminric screamed as he unleashed another smite on the corpse, but the damage had been done, and Evelyn Tabris fell to the ground, her raven curls soaking in the blood pooling around her.

"Merrill! Merrill, we need you!" Diala screamed, taking a poultice out of her pack and running towards the injured elf.

"My lady Tabris, why would you do that?" Murdoch asked sadly, cradling her head as Diala approached.

"Just seemed like the thing to do," was all she was able to say before her eyes finally shut.


	13. The Power of Mercy

_Notes: Warning! This chapter may push the rating a bit. Expect graphic descriptions of a darkspawn battle. I tried to keep it relatively tame, but wanted a warning nonetheless. Also: any emissaries in this story are envisioned as their updated design from The Descent. It shouldn't be a big deal, but I figured I'd let y'all know.  
_

* * *

 **Chapter 12: The Power of Mercy**

This wasn't the homecoming Mercy expected. Awkward, sure. Uncomfortable, even. But the darkspawn had already made it farther than she'd realized, destroying and tainting the once-fertile countryside she called home, and she couldn't help but mourn for it. They encountered a few isolated groups of darkspawn on the way, but nothing they couldn't handle. Her and her companions eventually caught up to the Arl and a force about one hundred strong in a clearing south of Elmridge, where they could see West Hills' crest of the mountain-and-stag-antler flying proudly for all to see, not that it would matter much to the darkspawn.

The guards posted at the entrance to the war camp were both perplexed and terrified of the qunari, dwarf, golem and witch that approached them, but quickly led them to a large tent on a small hill after they explained they were Grey Wardens. Apparently, the Arl had yet to give his men orders about whether to obey Teyrn Loghain in regards to the Grey Wardens, avoiding the topic and simply insisting that the Blight was the true threat, for which Mercy was thankful. He had always been a practical man.

After a minute or so of waiting, their guide emerged from the Arl's tent, and bowed to them respectfully, saying: "The Arl will see you now, Grey Wardens."

"Thank you," Mercy responded, bowing back and leading her companions into the tent.

The inside of the tent was austere, and spoke to her former Arl's practicality. There were three makeshift beds and simple wooden chairs placed around a table. Maps covered the canvas walls, and in the middle of the room stood Arl Wulff, a giant of a man by human standards with piercing eyes and a long grey beard. He wore ornate plate armor, as did the two other men in the tent, both of them presumably in their late twenties. They had the Arl's piercing eyes and impressive stature, and each nodded at the new arrivals.

"I bid you welcome, Grey Wardens. I am Arl Wulff."

Mercy bowed respectfully to her former lord, and Mayrin followed suit, if a little reluctantly. Morrigan, true to form, scoffed at the two of them, and Shale sighed heavily. Morrigan had been pricklier than usual since that night at Mercy's old farm, and was particularly hard on Mayrin.

"Arl Wulff. I am Warden Mercy, and this is Warden Brosca. With us are our two companions, Morrigan and Shale. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us."

"Mercy? Is it really you? I didn't recognize you. You have… grown up. I am sorry for what happened to your parents," the Arl said not unsincerely.

"It's in the past now, Arl Wulff, and that is not the reason for our visit. The Blight is what concerns us, and we have come to request your aid in fighting it."

"That's what I've been trying to do, but the darkspawn are simply too strong. We're fighting a losing battle. I've sent to Denerim for aid, but apparently the nobility is too embroiled in its own civil war to care."

"You can't hope to stand against the darkspawn with this force, and Ferelden cannot stand against the darkspawn in such a fractured state. Our proposal is this: retreat. Your knights, militiamen, freeholders, peasants… Everyone needs to flee. Myself and the other Wardens are amassing forces at Redcliffe, and hope to align with Arl Eamon against Teyrn Loghain."

" _Against_ Loghain? He may have made some questionable decisions of late, and the civil war is helping no one, but you cannot honestly expect me to ally against the Hero of River Dane. Without him, we could very well still be living under the Orlesians."

"I am aware," Mercy said sadly. "Loghain was a personal hero of mine; I grew up reading about his contributions to the Rebellion and the integral role he played. Maker, I wanted to _be_ Loghain, but the reality of the situation is that he abandoned the king's forces and the Wardens at Ostagar, and left King Cailan to die."

"I had heard it was a tactical retreat. If Loghain had not pulled out, he would have been slaughtered as well, right?. I trust you, Warden Hissera, so tell me honestly: if Loghain hadn't retreated, would the king have survived?"

At this Mercy hesistated. "I… am unsure, Your Grace. He was against the proposed strategy from the start, but the king refused to acquiesce to his demands. It is _possible_ that he made a good tactical decision, but one cannot combat a Blight without Grey Wardens, and his efforts to outlaw us are certain to doom Ferelden and Thedas both."

"She speaks sense, father," one of the two men behind the Arl said.

"I am not so sure," said the elder of the two. "Loghain hasn't lead us astray yet."

Mercy could practically _hear_ Morrigan rolling her eyes at the noblemen. The qunari Warden was about to protest, but felt a familiar ringing in her ears, heralding the arrival of the darkspawn. "Commander—" Mayrin said, obviously feeling the same.

"Arl Wulff, darkspawn approach. Ready your men but do not have them charge until my signal. Shale, are you sure about those fire crystals we found for you?" Mercy asked, already starting out of the tent.

"Now, wait just a minute, Warden. You don't give the—" the elder son started, before being interrupted by his father.

"In a Blight, Aeron, she does. Listen to her and get going!"

Following a frantic Mercy out of the tent, Shale responded: "I am. Does it wish to test them now?"

"It does. Morrigan, get yourself up to a good vantage point, and be ready to bring a firestorm down on the approaching horde on my signal. Shale, you'll be charging into that storm. Mayrin, you're with me. We'll be leading the vanguard after the storm subsides."

"Wonderful," Shale said. "I was starting to get bored of all that talking anyways."

Morrigan nodded and transformed into a crow, searching for a branch high enough to give her a good vantage point and strong enough to hold her human form, while Mayrin's little legs struggled to keep up with Mercy's immense strides. The camp had come alive, and soldiers were running to and fro to prepare themselves for the coming fight. She prayed their preparations were not in vain.

* * *

Mayrin was at the edge of the camp, standing in front of the human deshyr's army at Mercy's right side, Shale on the left. The humans were either raring to go and angry at being led by a qunari woman, or terrified and raring to flee, but Wulff made clear the consequences of desertion. Plus, how could you not be confident about how the battle would go when you were being led by a woman who could likely drop-kick a bronto over the Frostbacks.

It was quiet, aside from a few muttered prayers to the humans' Maker. Mayrin looked up at Mercy, asking quietly: "Ready, Warden-Commander?"

Mercy looked down at him, feigning annoyance. "How did _I_ become Warden-Commander?"

Mayrin shrugged. "Well, I wasn't gonna do it, and everyone else seemed more than happy to let you take the lead, _salroka._ "

Polite enough to wait for them to finish conversing, the darkspawn emerged from the ground before them but seconds later, only to be met with a rain of arrows. Genlocks and hurlocks surged from the earth itself, accompanied by a few shrieks, a massive ogre and a floating emissary.

"Shale, go. Target the emissary," Mercy commanded. Then, looking up: "Morrigan! Now!"

A great column of fire erupted on the battlefield, instantly incinerating a great number of the horde. Mayrin heard a few soldiers yelp in surprise and stifled a chuckle. Though, he did suspect that the storm could easily get through even a dwarf's resistance to magic. The witch was powerful, and more than proved why she deserved to be here.

"Archers, don't worry about hitting the golem," Mercy yelled as she saw Morrigan hex the ogre from the tree. "Ready… loose!" Another torrent of arrows was unleashed upon the flaming darkspawn before the column of fire dissipated. Mayrin looked up to see Morrigan panting from the strain.

"Knights of West Hills, charge!" Mercy commanded, raising her silverite blades and roaring as she surged into the battlefield, Mayrin not far behind. She tore her way through the remaining darkspawn like a knife through butter, Maryin making sure to finish off the few whose wounds from Mercy were not mortal. The human soldiers, emboldened by the terrifying golem, qunari giant and sturdy dwarf, charged in with almost the same reckless abandon. Soon, Shale even downed the ogre.

The battle was going well enough, the darkspawn casualties far outweighing the human ones. Morrigan's targeted magic could easily down even the strongest spawn without hurting their allies. Then, everything changed. Ahead of him, Mayrin saw Mercy frozen by a second emissary they hadn't seen, and a hurlock alpha charged in, brandishing a wicked axe, which was plunged into her abdomen with a sickening crunch, her frozen mail giving way to the monstrous weapon. Mercy's swords fell to the ground, splashing into the growing puddle of her blood.

"COMMANDER!" Mayrin screamed. "Morrigan, heal her!"

"I cannot, not from this far. And I've only just started learning!" she said, scrambling to find the notes Rayne gave her.

Mayrin charged up to the hurlock alpha, ready to die with his Commander, but stopped when he realized that, not only was Mercy still standing, she seemed to be fighting back. She snarled monstrously at the alpha, grabbing the axe, ripping it out of her stomach and wresting it from the alpha's grasp, throwing it aside. Bearing her claws, she charged towards the alpha, driving her terrible claws into the monster's eyes with one hand, and grabbing its shoulder for leverage with the other. With a terrifying roar, she ripped its head clean off and lobbed it at the remaining emissary, parts of its spine still attached.

She paused for a moment, observing the blood on her gauntlets, and Mayrin watched as it seemed to be absorbed by her grey skin. In fact, he saw the the blood from the corpses at her feet being drawn violently out of its former owners towards Mercy, as if by magic, and saw her massive wound closing, as each of the corpses slowly wilted like deep mushrooms in the sun. Picking up her blades, Mercy resumed the battle as if nothing had ever happened, quickly dispatching the remaining emissary and its minions.

"Commander?" Mayrin asked, panting and covered in taint. "What just happened?"

"I am uncertain, but I am not about to complain about it," she responded, inspecting the now-healed wound as Morrigan came running up, finally ready to treat a gash that was no longer there.

"It is not as squishy as I thought, is it?" Shale asked, picking various organs off its hulking form. Before they could discuss what happened though, a familiar voice called to them. They looked to see Arl Wulff's surly, older son from before, just sheathing his sword.

"Wardens," he called. He was named Aeron, Mayrin recalled. "My brother, Cadoc, has been tainted! He needs your help!"

* * *

 _Note: So yeah. She didn't have to drink dragon blood; she had it in her already. I figured qunari dragon blood+taint+stress/adrenaline could lead to a reaver without any other factors._


	14. Shackled

**Chapter 13: Shackled**

"Stay. The fuck. Away," was all Rayne heard as he turned the corner with his companions to see an abomination explode in a flash of blue light, the abominations around them giving off the same sickly blue light before they, too, exploded, blood covering every single surface in the room.

"Effective, but a bit gross," Rayne said to the mage who cast the spell, surrounded by a blue force bubble covered in blood and obscuring his form. Still, Rayne recognized that voice anywhere. The bubble dropped to display a bloodless, but exhausted and sweaty, human mage in yellow robes with a mage staff. He had black stubble and hair to match. The hair was tied in a bun, but still almost as excessively long as Rayne's hair, tumbling out in every direction. His silver eyes were confused for a second before they flashed with recognition. Before Wynne, Sten, Enid and Rayne stood Jaime Amell.

Like something out of one of the First Enchanter's sappy foreign romance novels, the two ran at each other, holding one another tight. Kissing Rayne hard, Jaime eventually collected himself and asked his oldest friend what he was doing here.

"The Grey Wardens needs allies against the Blight, and I couldn't pass up a chance at visiting home again. I just didn't realize how much you guys relied on me. I leave for a few months and the whole place goes to shit," Rayne said, trying to joke his way through the fact that the place he called home was desecrated beyond recognition and many of his family was dead.

"Wonderful. Another _bas sarebaas_ ," Sten grumbled, walking past Jaime and Rayne and further into the tower. Enid chuckled as everyone else fell in behind him, trying as well as they could to step over the entrails of the abominations Jaime had dealt with.

"Surprised the Wardens didn't make you cut your hair," Jaime said, trying to pretend everything was normal as they fought their way through the abominations and maleficar that infested Kinloch Hold. Garahel eagerly greeted the human his master embraced with such affection.

"They tried. Well, one did. But I couldn't give you the satisfaction of winning," Rayne responded as his wisp circled Jaime's body excitedly.

"Oh, Maker forbid!" Jaime exclaimed, making a big show of it.

"Lady Wynne," Enid whispered to the woman she just met. "What are they talking about?"

"Wynne will do fine, child, or Enchanter Wynne if you insist on titles. And I haven't the foggiest. The Senior Enchanters long ago learned to ignore their antics unless they posed a danger to someone, and they usually didn't."

"Antics?" Enid asked. "I wouldn't presume to know him very well, but since I have met Rayne, I would have never thought him capable of antics."

Eventually, Rayne realized he hadn't actually made any formal introductions, and rectified that immediately. While he and Jaime continued their incessant banter, their other companions traveled in silence. Wynne was worried about her home and Enid her friend and commanding officer. Anything other than silence from Sten, of course, would have been world-shattering. He did shock his companions when he insisted on keeping the water-stained portrait they found, saying he appreciated the mastery shown by its artist. They eventually made it to a particularly terrifying abomination towering over the exact person they were looking for: Niall. Rayne tried to leap into action immediately, but the will of the creature proved too strong.

"Why do you fight? You deserve more… you deserve a rest. The world will go on without you."

* * *

"Have a good night, First Enchanter," Knight-Commander Hadley nodded at Rayne as he departed the elf's study.

The First Enchanter was just finishing his treatise on darkspawn taint and how it interfered with, and even changed, a mage's magic. Rayne was something of an expert, considering he had… no, that can't be right. He had lived in the Circle nearly his entire life. Shaking his head, he stood up and tidied his desk; that was enough writing for tonight.

Rayne made his way up to his room, bidding goodnight to the mages and templars he saw along the way, Garahel at his side. He arrived to see Morrigan had already gotten ready for bed, and was thumbing through some ancient elven book. She didn't look up to greet him, but smiled as he entered the room. Wait, Morrigan didn't smile, and since when was she a subservient Circle mage?

"'Tis so cold, here in our bed. Do hurry up, dear."

Garahel growled at her, barking like he would at a darkspawn or demon. Wait, why did a First Enchanter need a war dog? Something was _very, very_ wrong.

"Just a sec," Rayne said, running over to a washbasin to clean up before going to bed, Garahel at his side. It was then that he noticed the glowing blue figure in the mirror behind him, its slight elven features given an unnatural and unsettling beauty by its iridescent and translucent skin. The glowing blue sapphires where its eyes would have been regarded Rayne like a disappointed parent, but the effect was lost when Garahel began to nuzzle its hand, its firm visage melting into a reluctant smile as it pet the mabari.

In an instant, Rayne knew at whom he was looking. Curiosity.

 _ **"This is not the pursuit of knowledge,**_ **da'len** _ **. Sloth offers you complicity, stagnation, death, yet you have become ensnared by its trap. It is… Disappointing. Even Garahel knows this is a trick."**_

The mabari barked in agreement.

"Wait… you're familiar. Are you… you're my wisp, aren't you? You've been with me since…"

 _ **"Since a month after you arrived at the Tower, yes. I had been watching you, your young curiosity shining across the Veil. Your dreams called to spirits of Desire and Curiosity both. You unknowingly drew but a piece, a wisp, of me across the Veil, and that same piece has returned to you every time you called. It has been… pleasant, thus far,"**_ its voice, neither female nor male, echoed inside Rayne's head.

"Why reveal yourself now? After all this time? Not even during my Harrowing?"

 _ **"There was no reason to before; I was content experiencing the world alongside you,**_ **da'len** _ **, but the need arose when you let yourself be caged."**_

"Rayne, my dear, to whom are you speaking?" Morrigan asked, before seeing the specter beside Rayne.

 _ **"Begone, Sloth,"**_ Curiosity commanded. _**"Mortals are not for us to toy with, this one especially."**_

Not-Morrigan let out a scornful laugh as everything came flooding back to Rayne. Morrigan's eyes flashed red and, in a voice that was Morrigan's and a demon's both, she said **"'Tis not your choice to make, Curiosity! He belongs to me now."** At this point, the facsimile of Morrigan's hands lit up with raging violet fire.

 _ **"He belongs to no one save himself, Sloth."**_ Curiosity said, stepping in between the two of them. He needn't have bothered, however.

Just before letting off a blast of her sickly flames, a beautiful runed long sword shot out of not-Morrigan's chest, and she dissipated before their eyes. When the smoke cleared, a relieved-looking Enid Mahariel was standing before them, green ironbark armour practically shining as she sheathed her ancient blade, Rage's End. Garahel charged at her happily, assaulting her with kisses. She looked at Rayne, relieved he was okay.

" _There_ you are. Let's go," she said, leading Rayne out of his room.

"So, about what you saw in there…" he tried to say before she cut him off.

"I won't tell her if you won't," Enid assured him. "Creators know the Beyond is a weird place."

* * *

Anora summoned him and Howe both to the throne room first thing in the morning, and judging by increased presence of armed guards at every entrance and on either side of Anora, this would not be a pleasant meeting. Loghain swore silently to himself as he saw Anora's pet Orlesian at her side, face as inscrutable as ever. He counted at least five daggers hidden in her servant's robes, and Anora was in blue vitriol plate armour, her piercing blue eyes made even more so by the shining plate.

"Arl Howe. Father. Thank you for coming to see me. There are some things we must discuss," Anora said, regarding them not without suspicion.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Howe said, bowing low, ever the simpering fool. "Though it is Teyrn Howe now, of course."

"What is this about, Anora? There are things to do, and we cannot waste time with—"

"You will speak when spoken to, Teyrn Loghain. You may be regent, but I am still your queen," Anora said, with enough conviction that Loghain almost believed her. " _Arl_ Howe," Anora said pointedly, making Loghain snicker and Howe bristle. "I was wondering if I might inquire about the… unpleasantness with the Couslands."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Howe said, hiding a scowl.

"I understand they were traitors, cavorting with Orlesians and plotting direst treason against our good King Cailan, my dear departed husband."

"Indeed, Your Majesty. Why do you ask?"

"While I, of course, do not doubt your word, Arl Howe, the landsmeet will need assurances. None of my agents were able to find any proof of such treason, nor had any nobles ever suspected the Couslands before, though they may have used that to their advantage, of course."

"I believe they did, yes. Bryce was a dear friend of mine, and it broke my heart to do what I did, but such is the price of our continued freedom."

"Indeed, and we thank you for your service."

"Anora, why is it necessary for me to be here?" Loghain asked, crossing his arms.

"Patience, Teyrn Loghain. Now, Arl Howe, in preparation for the landsmeet, I request that you find proof of the Couslands' treason in order to have you confirmed as Teyrn of Highever. And, given your drastic actions, I have no doubt that this will be quite easy. Furthermore, I expect you to name your replacements for Arls of Amaranthine and Denerim within the week, and I will consider them."

"My replacements, Your Majesty?"

"Indeed. One man cannot hold all three of those titles," Anora chuckled mirthlessly. "That would be preposterous, wouldn't it?"

"I… Of course, Your Majesty," Howe pouted.

"Wonderful. As my next order of business… Some papers have come into my possession, and they made me feel sick to my stomach. Erlina?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," the Orlesian said, producing a parcel that… no, that was impossible. How did Anora get that?

"Now, these papers bear my father's seal, but this is not his writing. Arl Howe, you may approach the throne. Is this your handwriting?" she asked, holding the papers out for him to see.

"It is, Your Majesty…"

"As I suspected. I assume you both know what these papers are?" Anora was trembling in anger now.

"Anora, we did what we had to do. This is a _war._ You don't understand the costs of—"

"I **understand** just **fine**!" Anora said, slamming her gauntleted fist into the arm of the wooden throne with enough force to crack it. " I understand that you have sold natural-born Fereldan citizens into slavery, the both of you! Citizens that rely on us to _protect_ them, to watch out for them. They are not our possessions, they are our subjects, and it is our _responsibility_ to do right by them!"

"Anora—" Loghain started.

" _Queen_ Anora, Teyrn Loghain" she corrected him coldly.

" _Queen_ Anora, war has costs. It is an ugly business, but the bannorn has left us little choice."

"There is _always_ a choice, Teyrn Loghain. Especially when we are fighting against the very people with whom we should be allied! By Andraste, should we not be fighting the darkspawn, instead of each other?"

"Your Majesty," Howe piped up, taking a patronizing tone as he looked pointedly at Anora's handmaiden. "I fail to see the problem. They are just elves."

" _Just_ elves, Arl Howe?!" she nearly yelled, before taking a deep breath to regain her composure. "Be careful, _Rendon_. You're beginning to sound like a Tevinter… or worse, an Orlesian."

 _Maker, she's right,_ Loghain realized. _This is_ _ **exactly**_ _what they would do. How could I have agreed to this?!_

"Your Majesty," Howe started, raising his voice for the first time since they entered, before being cut off once again by his Queen.

"You two have one week to get the slavers off Fereldan soil, whether that be through rescinding your offer or dealing with them more… violently."

"Your Majesty, how can you expect us to fund—"

"I. Don't. Care. We are _Ferelden_. We are not Orlesians, or Tevinters. We are not the barbarians they think we are, and we should give them to reason to doubt that. We are _better_ than that. Get it done," Anora said, disappointed with her father for perhaps the first time in her life.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Loghain said, bowing low.

"Good. You are both dismissed."

* * *

"Revka, dear, the de Launcets have dropped off an invitation for a soirée at their estate next Saturday," Jaime's father said to his mother, passing her the letter.

"Oh, Maker. Not again. I can scarcely stomach Dulci's nattering by _letter_. How can we be expected to sit through her inane prattling in person?"

"At least Fifi and Babette will be there," Jaime said mischieviously.

"Really, Jaime," his mother scolded jokingly. "Even your standards can't be _that_ low. Now, go fetch your siblings. I believe the servants said we are having duck tonight."

"Of course, mother," Jaime said, starting down the stairs of their lavishly-decorated and expansive Kirkwall mansion, but before he was able to find even one of his five other siblings, he heard a knock on the door. Confused about why he didn't see any servants running to the door, Jaime sighed and went to get it himself.

"Hey, Jaime," the elf at the door said sadly, his long black hair tumbling over his Grey Warden robes. He was accompanied by his mabari, the Dalish elf, Wynne and the qunari that Jaime had just met… Where? Where had he met them? Following all of them was a shimmering blue elf, long hair flowing behind its form as if underwater, its transluscent form emitting an unsettiling light.

"Rayne, what're you doing here?" Jaime asked, beckoning them inside. "I'm not sure the servants made enough for you and your guests, but we can certainly try to accomodate you…"

"Jaime…" Rayne started.

"Mother! Father! We have guests!" Jaime called happily.

His parents appeared on the balcony and waved politely at Jaime's guests.

"Jaime, this isn't real. This is the Fade."

"The Fade?" Jaime asked, amused. "Why would I be in the Fade? I'm not even a mage."

"Yes you are. Why would a noble from Kirkwall know a senior enchanter of Ferelden, a dalish elf, a qunari and an elven mage? Think about how you got here. **Remember who you are.** "

"I… I will try," Jaime said, rubbing his eyes.

"NO!" called the discordant voices of his parents as their bodies erupted in flame, replaced instantly by rage demons. In an instant, everything came flooding back to Jaime.

"Rayne… I'm sorry, I didn't realize—"

"So am I," Rayne responded, hugging Jaime tight.

"Shouldn't we… do something?" Jaime asked, turning to face the demons.

"Just watch this," Rayne said, nodding at Enid, who had now drawn Rage's End, smiling.

From the balcony shot two intense blasts of heat, threatening to incinerate them all. Jaime put a spell shield up, but Rayne stood there calmly. Just as the fire was about to reach them, it changed its course, and arced towards Enid's silverite blade, instantly absorbed by its shimmering form. Satisfied with its performance, Enid took off up the stairs, brandishing her elven blade. In a single slash, each of the rage demons were killed instantly.

"How… how is that possible?" Jaime said, staring at the grinning Dalish elf.

 _ **"It is a blade dating back to the days of Arlathan, imbued with great magical power. I had thought them all lost, but it seems that this one was preserved, protected. It shields its wielder from flames and silences Rage, and it seems that its funcionality is not impaired in the Beyond. It is… good to see that some such things still exist in the waking world,"**_ the spirit said.

"You are… useful to have with us, spirit," Wynne said. "However, the time comes now to leave this place. Shall we confront the demon?"

"Finally," Sten nodded, leading the charge to Sloth's lair.


	15. Her's Was Not the Last Sacrifice

_Warning: lots of blood and gore at the end. Thank you everyone that's reading and the two that have favourited and followed!  
_

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Her's Was Not the Last Sacrifice**

When Keegan said he was dreading visiting Isolde and Eamon again, this wasn't the reason he envisioned. Apparently, Isolde's stupidity had ruined more than just dinner, this time. It would take Redcliffe a long time to recover, and it was all because that damn Orlesian decided to hire an apostate blood mage to tutor her son. _Maleficar_. She didn't know that, but, Maker, when had anyone ever met an apostate that _wasn't_ a blood mage?

At least Nate and Felix were okay. And Anora, if he recalled the cipher correctly. He didn't exactly have time to pick his notes up from Highever on the way out of there. He was happy she was okay, but the news about Howe and Loghain was… disturbing.

The corpses in the castle were dealt with quickly; it seemed the prowess of the Grey Wardens was not exaggerated. The dwarven woman releasing the blood mage from his cell was not what Keegan would have done, but couldn't find it in himself to care enough to object. The Warden templar and the real templar had done enough of that for him, anyways. Keegan could see why the Eremons had decided that Alfstanna should be bann; Irminric was unable to separate his feelings from his duty, whereas that was all Keegan could do to keep on living. A Cousland does his duty. Of course they had to bring the blood mage in, but there were bigger problems right now.

" _Either someone kills my son to destroy that thing inside of him or I give my life so my son can live. To me, the answer is clear."_

He may not have liked Isolde, and this entire situation may have been her fault, but one could never say she didn't love her son. He could never say she didn't do her duty as a mother (though the same could not be said about Eamon doing his duty as the boy's father). Speaking of parental duties…

 _"I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time, but I won't abandon you."_

No. Not yet. Feelings can happen when things calm down, else they'd consume him entirely. Duty is what matters right now. Justice for the people of Highever, and even Amaranthine. Stopping the civil war. Ending the Blight. At this point, though, that meant sitting around on their asses.

Merrill, Diala, Nathaniel and Alistair did not want to kill Connor. Eve, Nathaniel, Irminric and Alistair were opposed to sacrificing Isolde for Jowan's blood magic ritual (Alistair was one disagreeable prince). Keegan thought either would be a viable option, but did not say that out loud. Felix seemed to agree, but he was biased. Thus, Merrill set out for the Circle in the form of a crow. If she didn't return or they heard no news in a week's time, they would need to make a decision. Keegan hoped she didn't pass out over Lake Calenhad and drown mid-flight, but if she did, well, that was just one more casualty of the Blight. Bodahn and Sandal were staying in the castle as well, but the elder was getting noticeably more impatient every day.

They were taking turns guarding the abomination, now, sleeping in shifts. One group would sleep in the the guest or servant quarters while the other would sit in the main hall and read, or play Wicked Grace, or just chat, ensuring the door to the family's quarters remained locked. Teagan, Perth, Isolde and Jowan all also remained close by, Jowan doing his best to avoid Irminric. Each group had a templar, ready to smite should the need ever arise. And it did, a few times. But apparently a holy smite was even more powerful against an abomination than a normal mage, and Connor's unconscious body was eventually put back to bed. It was apparent, however that Connor was slowly becoming more resistant to the smites— and frustrated— meaning that, according to Irminric, if the others didn't get back soon, Desire might physically possess the boy, making his condition permanent and the ritual moot.

 _"It would simple things up, at least,"_ Keegan considered.

The group with which Keegan found himself in the great hall at four in the morning was Diala, Eve and Alistair (and Felix, of course), which suited him just fine. Alistair was teaching Diala how to become a templar, and she seemed quite adept (though, from what Keegan had seen, that was true about most things she tried). Eventually, the two of them joined him, Eve and Felix at Wicked Grace, but that grew tedious as well. And so the conversation turned to blood. Royal blood, that is. It was sparked by Eve's discovery of Alistair's mother's amulet while she was pilfering Eamon's castle for things he was sure not to miss. Alistair had been clutching it since it was found.

"Really?" Alistair questioned. "You _wanted_ to be teyrn?"

"I would have wanted to, if Fergus didn't. Either way, I wanted to play a role in the administration of our lands, to serve the crown. A Coulsand always does his duty, after all. Not that it matters anymore," Keegan said with the same cold detachment his companions had come to expect from him.

"That's… noble," Diala said. "Better than me. All I wanted to do was fight darkspawn. I always wished I were Warrior Caste. Where I grew up, being noble wasn't about responsibility, or duty… It was about being noble. Fulfilling your role by lording over everyone who was below you (which, if you were noble, was everyone). It… wasn't the best place."

"I can understand that," Keegan said. "I've never been to Orzammar, but I did have to study it, and my parents visited once or twice. It seemed like an unorthodox way to run a society, to say the least."

"That's an understatement," Diala chuckled.

"I don't know what you guys are talking about," Eve finally said, clearly annoyed. "Responsibility, shmesponsibility. All your pampered asses had to worry about whose butt is sitting on a throne, and whether or not it's yours. I had to worry about whether winter meant that I would starve to death, or which of my friends was getting kidnapped and raped that day."

That shut the table up pretty quickly, Eve's companions taking a second to appreciate how comparatively lucky they had been.

"Well, Alistair didn't exactly grow up pampered. He was tolerated. Barely," Keegan offered.

"Hey wait! How do you know that? My childhood was just fine," Alistair responded.

"Didn't you grow up in a… stable, Alistair? With hay, whatever that is?" Diala asked.

"Wait," Eve interrupted. "You just, like, worked in the stables, right? You didn't sleep there?"

"Welllllllll…" Alistair started.

"Alistair," Keegan said seriously.

"Yes, I slept in the barn. It got chilly sometimes, but it was… fine," Alistair said, increasingly unconvincingly.

"Well, shit, this Eamon guy kind of sounds like an asshole. I may have been treated worse than dirt, but at least I had a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in. Why would he do that? Especially if you were Maric's son?" Eve asked.

"He was a threat," Keegan said simply. "And a stain on Queen Rowan, at least from their perspective. Not that that makes any sense."

"Yeah," Diala said. "Ancestors, if you were born in Orzammar, you would've been thrown in lava before you were even named."

"It wasn't that bad!"

"Alistair," Keegan continued, not all that concerned about Alistair's, or anyone's feelings, right now. "This is _Ferelden_. My father was nearly crowned king instead of Cailan, he was such a fool. The landsmeet would have preferred _any_ Theirin to Cailan, bastard or not. You were _barely_ taught how to read, made to sleep in the cold, even in the winter, and kept in ignorance about Fereldan's nobility. You weren't taught history, weren't taught to rule, weren't taught diplomacy. You were kept as ignorant as possible as not to threaten Cailan's rule. And Eamon was complacent in it, aided it, perhaps out of loyalty, or perhaps for… more selfish reasons. He was a terrible father figure to you, and has apparently been a terrible father to Connor."

"Wow," Alistair said, inhaling sharply. "Someone's got _is-sues,_ " he said in the singsong voice he used to deflect tough talk with sarcasm.

"Maybe, but consider it," Keegan said, leaning back in his chair and staring into the fire. If one wasn't paying attention, one wouldn't notice the tears Alistair was biting back, and they wouldn't notice Diala gently putting a gauntleted hand on Alistair's thigh, but Keegan was always paying attention. He may have even felt bad about it, if he was capable of feeling anything at the moment.

* * *

Greagoir felt so _useless_. Waiting for the Right, waiting for the Wardens, waiting for Irving, but not doing anything. How could he have let this happen? This was _his_ responsibility. The mages were _his_ charges. First Jowan, Lily and the Surana boy, and now _this?_ Greagoir had been in charge of a stable, successful tower for years, but he would no doubt remembered for this colossal failure, and rightfully so.

 _"Maker_ , _please keep Irving safe,"_ Greagoir prayed.

Then he heard a knock on the Tower's double doors.

"Blessed Andraste, I told Carroll not to let anyone across on the boat. What is it?" he called out as he walked towards the doors.

"Oh, I didn't come across the on the boat," came a voice from the other side. He opened the door to see a barefoot elf with a tattooed face and shimmering green eyes. "I flew here, and by the Dread Wolf are my arms tired! Oh, hello! I'm Merrill. I hope this is the right place; I didn't see any other big towers in the middle of the lake, but I could be mistaken. This _is_ the Lake Calenhad, right? Anyways, I'm looking for Enid Mahariel and some other people. Are they here?"

* * *

"Of course I do. I love stories far too much to keep them to myself. Everyone should be able to benefit from them, I think."

How Nate got saddled with the Orlesian Chantry sister and the nattering, idealistic templar, he had no idea. At least Keegan had told Felix to keep him company.

"While I know a great deal about Fereldan history and legends, I'll admit that Orlesian folklore still eludes me. Do you have any Orlesian stories?" the templar asked.

"Orlesians enjoy telling stories. I shall tell you my favourite tale of Aveline, the Knight of Orlais," the sister responded. "A long time ago, a girl-child was born to a…"

And that was all Nathaniel needed to hear before tuning her out completely. He'd met enough Orlesian _chevaliers_ or female knights in general at the Grand Tourneys while he squired in the Free Marches, and had no desire to hear the tale of Ser Aveline _again._ Irminric was a wonderful example of why so many foreigners thought Ferelden a nation of barbarians. How in Andraste's name had be not heard of Ser Aveline?

What interested Nathaniel more than Irminric's embarrassingly Fereldan gaps in his knowledge was the Orlesian. The martial skill, complemented with her archer's eye and experience at subterfuge and infiltration betrayed a certain distinctly Orlesian skill set, one that made Nathaniel nervous, but could be very useful. He prayed for option number two, but each time he tried to broach the topic so that the two archers could learn from one another, the sister gave him clever non-answers, or deftly changed the topic entirely. When really backed into a corner, she would feign ignorance with such skill Nathaniel almost believed her. That is, until he saw her fight again.

She was a bard, that much was sure. Whose side she was on remained to be seen, but Nathaniel prayed she would put the Blight above petty political ambitions and games, unlike his father had. But when had Orlesians ever been practical? She would need to be watched.

"—and to this day, any woman who is knighted reveres Aveline the Brave, for she is the patron of all women _chevaliers._ "

"That is _so_ inspiring," Irminric remarked. "It seems odd that such a pious nation used to hold such views, but—"

And then the door flew open, lock snapping off. The young form of Connor charged out, shrouded in sinister crimson energy. He immediately shot a burst of lightning at Irminric, crackling through the air and knocking the templar to the floor. A discordant cacophany of voices leapt from his mouth as he wailed: _**"**_ **How** _ **dare**_ **you keep me locked up! I** _ **saved**_ **father! I should be celebrated, worshiped, but you templars interfered!"** He stalked towards a dazed Irminric. Leliana and Nathaniel were firing arrow after arrow at his small frame and Leliana was screaming bloody murder to alert the others, but each arrow was reflected by an invisible barrier.

Connor was standing over Irminric now, whose eyes had glazed over. He was praying to himself, skin singed and smoking from the lightning bolt that had seared his armour to it.

 _"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter."_

Leliana unsheathed her twin daggers, charging towards the boy, Felix in tow. She was knocked aside by a blast of arcane energy, tumbling to the ground with the mabari.

 _"Blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just."_

Connor looked down at the templar, laughing. His eyes were black as sin and his hand was dripping with his own blood.

 _"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow."_

Irminric coughed, sputtering blood. In that instant, it started pouring from his mouth, his nose, his eyes and ears, and he screamed out in pain, but that same pain seemed to snap him out of his stupor. Nathaniel, meanwhile, tried to do as Leliana did, meeting just as much success.

 _"In their blood the Maker's will is written."_

Eyes filled with blood, Irminric raised a hand to the abomination above him. He mustered all of his energy for one last holy smite. As Irminric's head exploded into a million pieces, a blinding divine light was called down from the heavens, rendering Connor unconscious once again.

 _"Let mine be the last sacrifice."_

Keegan, Ser Perth and others arrived just as Nathaniel had finished throwing up in the corner, too late by far.


	16. A Murder Most Foul

**Chapter 15: A Murder Most Foul**

 _"From this moment forth, Cadoc, you are a Grey Warden."_

"Darkspawn blood, eh? It makes sense, I suppose, but I can't say it isn't a bit shocking," Arl Wulff said, sitting beside his unconscious son's bed and holding his hand. "But you saved my son, as well as my men, and for that I will not complain. Thank you, Wardens. I'll keep your secret."

Mercy and Mayrin nodded respectfully, both pleased that Shale and Morrigan had preoccupied themselves elsewhere.

"Indeed," Aeron agreed.

"It is evident you are correct about your order's importance, and the might of the horde. As soon as I can, I will collect my forces and tell my freeholders of our march to Redcliffe," Wulff grunted. "But Cadoc will go with you as soon as he awakes. I suppose he's a Grey Warden now, after all."

"Thank you, Arl Wulff, for the men and the Warden. However, may I ask why you are choosing to wait?"

Arl Wulff snorted a little bit, rolling his eyes. "One of my daughters, Izot, ran off with an avvar tribesman, and the two of them got in over their head. I hired a group of adventurers to find them, and they'll return soon, if their letters are to be believed."

"Avvar? The mountainfolk, yes?" Mayrin asked.

"Indeed. Arl Wulff, if your daughter is married to one of them, might you be able to use that to secure an alliance with the avvar people?" Mercy inquired.

At that, the Arl let out a hearty laugh, but then considered it for a second. "No, not the whole of the avvar. They are a petty, vengeful, proud people, strong enough to have descended from the Frostbacks and conquered my arling ages ago, but too stupid to stop fighting amongst themselves to organize into any serious military force."

"Still, the Blight threatens us all. Could you convince some of them, perhaps?"

"It is not a terrible idea, actually. They are ferocious fighters when they can actually get along and stop fighting one another," Wulff reflected, considering. "The whole of the avvar, no, but a few holds? Perhaps. It is something to consider Warden-Commander, and you will have your answer in time when we arrive in Redcliffe."

"That's good enough for us, Arl Wulff," Mayrin said with an easy smile. "We'll leave ya to your son."

"Thank you, Wardens. May the Maker watch over you."

"And you," Mercy said as she left his tent.

* * *

"Helloooooo? Curiosity? Can you hear me? Are you in there?" Jaime asked as he helped First Enchanter Irving down the stairs with Rayne. Surviving mages were following them down the stairs, Leorah among them, who Rayne was relieved to see.

"It can always hear you, that's why it's with me. It just… Isn't a chatty spirit, I think. Which isn't a bad thing, considering the chatty ones tend to be demons."

"It was in the Fade," Enid said. "Also: are you sure you two squishy and noodly mages don't want any help? You've got me and Sten right here."

"No, no. He's _our_ First Enchanter. We're doing this," Rayne said as his wisp swirled around Irving excitedly. "And we better spend at least some time with him, if _both_ of his favourite pupils are leaving now."

Jaime didn't comment on that, but Irving let out a weak chuckle. "Now, children, you know I don't play favourites."

"I must say," Wynne said kindly. "However chatty it may or may not have been, Curiosity was an immense help in the Fade and against the sloth demon. I hope it knows how grateful we are."

"I think it does. Maybe. Possibly. I don't know; this is all so new to me," Rayne said, sputtering a bit.

 _ **"I am aware,**_ **da'len** _ **. You may tell them if you wish. I am grateful to them as well, for allowing me to continue learning new things."**_

"Oh. Apparently it says thank you to you as well."

"A _polite_ demon. _Won_ derful," Sten said, finally piping up after the fight with Uldred.

 _ **"I am no demon,**_ **da'len** _ **. I can be silent again, should you wish, or leave you and find another."**_

 _ **"**_ _No, don't. I happen to appreciate you,"_ Rayne thought. " _And you said… You could give more power to my healing spells? Teach me new techniques. Is that still true?"_

 _ **"If you wish,**_ **da'len.** _ **I can draw more of the Beyond into you to reshape your allies' flesh as easily as I would reshape my own realm. It would please me to help you however you need, so long as you continue to learn, to satiate your Curiosity."**_

 _ **"**_ _Sounds good to me,"_ Rayne responded.

They eventually reached the last door before the entrance hall, and Enid gave it a respectful knock.

"Yes?" they heard the Knight-Commander ask.

"Greagoir, it is me. The tower is safe, thanks to the Grey Wardens," the First Enchanter said weakly as the doors opened before them, a familiar elven form bursting through them and giving Enid a big hug.

" _Lethallan!_ Oh, Enid, I'm so pleased that you're okay," Merrill exclaimed, forgetting for a second that anyone else was in the room. "Oh, hello again everybody else! Why are you looking at me like that? Do you need hugs as well? Or something else? The tower doesn't seem as nice as you described it, Rayne, but then again I suppose it's having some problems…"

"Merrill!" Enid interrupted. "Slow down. Why are you here?"

"She claims to have flown from Redcliffe, and needs the mages' help. I explained your low likelihood of surviving in the Tower, but her faith in all of you was unshakeable," Greagoir said with a slight smile, his relief more apparent with every step he took.

"Why do you need our help?" Rayne asked. "Is this about Arl Eamon?"

"No. Well, yes. He's been poisoned, but he's not why Diala sent me. The Arl's son is a mage, and he's been possessed by a demon. According to a squirrely little human mage we met— he actually poisoned Arl Eamon, but he seemed quite nice, other than that— we can still sever the demon's connection to the boy in the Beyond."

"I apologize, but we cannot spare any—"

"Of course we can, Greagoir," Irving said. "It will be good to help this boy. With myself, Wynne, Jaime, Rayne, this fine young Dalish elf, and myself, we will have enough mages to conduct the ritual, and should be back within the week. Please have some of your templars fetch the lyrium."

"If you insist, Irving," Greagoir responded.

"Knight-Commander, this is madness! We do not know how many of them have turned!"

"Cullen," Jaime said curtly, really having no patience for the templar's bullshit right now, however traumatized he may be. "Would you please shut up?"

So much for recruiting a templar.

* * *

The Commander was back in her Warden armour, but considering the state of her chainmail, they figured it was better to be recognized and safe than unarmoured and anonymous, however anonymous a qunari could be in Ferelden. Mayrin wished he had some; it was so shiny.

Mercy was walking in the front with Cadoc and Shale, telling Cadoc about being a Warden and reassuring a skeptical Shale that many birds tended to leave Ferelden in the winter, whatever that is. The surface was a laugh a minute. First, there were feathered nugs with wings. Now, there was white shit falling from the sky and he was freezing his bits off. And apparently this wasn't even close to the coldest it would get. For the first time, he found himself missing Orzammar, and his family. Ancestors, he hoped Rica and Leske were okay.

Cadoc was an attractive enough human: he had a square jaw, shaggy chestnut brown hair and stubble, and his father's piercing brown eyes. His heavy plate armour marked him as a noble, and his greataxe marked him as a warrior. He was courteous and straightfoward like his father, but not nearly as self-assured.

"You know, dwarf, it occurs to me that you were wrong," his traveling companion said, her silky voice snapping him out of his daydreaming.

"Oh, is that right?" Mayrin responded, not really sure what the witch was on about now.

"'Tis indeed. You spoke as if I had nothing to live for because I am not beholden to the same pathetic feelings others are. But 'tis untrue. I have much to live for: the pursuit and safeguarding of ancient mysteries, the unearthing and preservation of things once thought lost… These are things worth living for, not your pathetic love,"

"Alright," Mayrin said, barely listening.

Morrigan scowled. "You heard me, yes? You were wrong, and your inane moralizing does not make you superior to me simply because you put your energy into transient, finite and unreliable relationships. My goals, at least, serve a purpose."

"Whatever you say, Morrigan," Mayrin said tiredly.

"You— you are impossible!"

At that, Mayrin finally snickered. "Thanks, I try."

Ahead of them, Mercy, Shale and the new guy were accosted by a dirty-looking human woman in peasant clothes.

"Oh, thank the Maker! We need help! They attacked the wagon, please help us! Follow me! I'll take you to them!" and she was off, Cadoc almost setting off after her before being stopped by Mercy.

"Hold for a moment, soldier. She was lying through her teeth," Mercy said, turning to face Mayrin and Morrigan.

"How could you tell?" Cadoc asked, obviously anxious to help the woman.

"My parents. Shale: with me. We'll meet whatever this is head-on. Morrigan: take to the skies, giving yourself a good vantage point to support us. Mayrin, Cadoc, each of you advance along the hidden paths to the left and right, and join us on my signal."

"Sure thing, Commander," Mayrin said, as everyone set off to do as they were told.

Mercy and Shale advanced cautiously, Mercy's blades drawn and shining in the sunlight. She watched as her Wardens weaved their way through the forest and the hills, staying out of sight but still close enough to react when the time came. Eventually, the golem and qunari came face to face with the woman and her compatriot, a handsome elf with golden eyes and golden hair. On his signal, a veritable army of armoured assassins poured out of the woodwork. He smiled as he drew his blades, and yelled: "The Grey Warden dies here!"


	17. Expanding Horizons

**Chapter 16: Expanding Horizons**

It was nice to be out of the Tower, even if it was different than he remembered it. From the view in the Circle's boat in Lake Calenhad, Jaime realized that Ferelden was a little more… drab than Kirkwall. And he was pleased with himself for not having thrown up on the boat even once, unlike Rayne. Poor guy. Wynne had been tending to Irving during the trip, and Garahel to his elf. Jaime was a bit jealous of Rayne's mabari, but as long as Jaime got his fair share of snuggles when he got the chance, he wasn't going to complain too much. The qunari stood on the deck, as unmoving as ever. Jaime hadn't seen him move in the past few hours, but was assured by those who were used to him that we was not, in fact, dead.

Most of his companions had retired to their quarters for the night, but Jaime was leaning on the railing, appreciating the fresh evening air and the taste of freedom before being disturbed by the familiar sound of Merrill hurling over the side of the boat. Jaime turned to see the poor girl being soothed by Enid's tender hand on her back. He walked over and cast a little rejuvenation spell on her, giving her a momentary reprieve from her seasickness and she took a seat on the deck, leaning against a railing post.

"She'd thank you, were she capable of speech right now," Enid chuckled. The elf was out of her ironbark armour and in her everyday tribal leathers, and Jaime would have forgotten she was a warrior were it not for the blade strapped to her hip. Her long brown hair, usually tied up in a fight, flowed freely in the wind. She moved gracefully towards Jaime, putting her arm around his shoulder and saying: "So, our not-so-fearless leader really talked you up before we got here, and you really lived up to it in the Tower. I hear you'll be joining us soon?"

Jaime smiled nervously at the elf, her blue Dalish tattoos and sapphire eyes a little too close for comfort. "Umm… yup," his voice cracked. "That's the plan," he responded convincing absolutely nobody.

Enid's face fell. "He said you always wanted to get out, that he'd be freeing you. Have things changed?"

"I… I honestly don't know. The Circle was my home and my prison, and they need me right now. I couldn't abandon them now. If things had been different, maybe, but…"

"I understand. Were it not for the taint, I would not have left my clan. I sometimes still feel like I've failed in my duty to them. Rayne, though… Rayne might not understand. It would be best to tell him sooner rather than later."

Merrill grunted in agreement, surprising them both with the fact that she was still conscious.

"Yeah," Jaime said, leaning into Enid's strangely comforting embrace. "Yeah… I know."

* * *

So _this_ was Redcliffe, Enid's first honest-to-Mythal human castle. She couldn't imagine living in such a big, cold, empty space, but she _could_ see the appeal of living somewhere so secure. It would make her job a lot easier; that's for sure. The humans in the area had apparently never seen a Dalish elf before, but she bore her Mythal _vallaslin_ proudly, happy to answer any well-intentioned questions, however ignorant, from any humans who worked up the courage to ask.

They were greeted by soldiers at the gate and quickly rushed to the Great Hall, where they were greeted by quite an unhappy sight. There was a crying human woman with red hair sitting at a table, comforted by a human man with a goatee, brown hair and brown eyes. Two human men sat near them, both wearing fine leather and wielding well-crafted longbows. Across the hall sat Alistair and Diala, enraptured in their own discussion. On the floor, sitting beside a massive and freshly-cleaned (though not very well) bloodstain was a beautiful elven woman with dark skin and beautiful black curls sobbing into her hands, and Leliana trying (unsuccessfully, by the looks of it) to comfort her. In the corner across from the door through which they entered stood a mage (or someone who liked their robes) with shoulder-length black hair, trying desperately to sink into the stonework, by the looks of him.

It was then that Rayne spoke, his voice scarcely louder than a whisper: "Jowan?" he asked in disbelief.

"By all that's holy… Rayne! I can't believe it!" the mage apparently named Jowan responded.

"Believe it, asshole," Rayne spat with a disturbingly tranquil fury. Before anyone could react, Rayne was on Jowan in a rage. He delivered a bone-crunching right cross that sent Jowan sprawling to the floor. "Fuck you, Jowan!"

Quickly healing his own bleeding hand, Rayne kicked the already-bleeding mage in the stomach as Jowan tried to curl up and protect himself. "You were our friend! We trusted you! I trusted you!" he was crying now, as Jaime and Enid ran up to restrain him, but not before he was able to kick Jowan again. "I had a _life_! I had a _family_! You took it all away, you useless, sniveling waste of space! I hate you! I HATE YOU!" With that, all of his rage subsided, and he deflated into the arms of his two friends, sobbing quietly. "I could have been there," he muttered. "If I had been there, I could have stopped it…"

Wynne was already on her knees healing the bleeding and broken form of Jowan. For a noodly mage, Rayne packed quite a punch. The rest of the room was in shock, but the First Enchanter eventually broke the silence and addressed those inside, as nobody else seemed to want to: "I am First Enchanter Irving of the Circle of Magi. I understand there is a possessed child that needs our help. Whatever other problems we may have can be resolved after we save him," he said, looking at Rayne disappointingly with eyes that would give even Keeper Marethari pause. Rayne suddenly became very interested in the floor as he began to realize what he had just done. "For now, let us get the ritual underway."

* * *

 _ **"I do not think that was the wisest course of action,**_ **da'len** _ **. You more closely resembled a demon of rage than one of The People during your… outburst in the waking world."**_

"Yeah, I know," Rayne responded as he plodded through the dreamscape of a confused old man and sad little boy.

 _ **"I was with you, when Jowan showed his true hand. I was not aware you felt so strongly about blood magic."**_

"Honestly, it wasn't even the blood magic thing. Jaime was the only thing that stopped me from going straight to the First Enchanter when Jowan asked me for help. Jowan betrayed me, I realized that I had betrayed the man who helped make me into the mage I am, who believed in me all these years, for someone who lied to me. I can never go back to that life, and never hope to earn the First Enchanter's forgiveness, but at least I can make Jowan suffer for what he did. Maker's balls, if he'd told me he was a blood mage in the first place, I would have asked him to teach me a thing or two!"

 _ **"Truly,**_ **da'len?"** Curiosity wondered, obviously perplexed by its elven companion. _**"Does your Circle not frown on blood magic?"**_

"Partially. The Circle follows the Chantry's edicts, so it also frowns on me carrying on with a spirit like this. It frowns on elves. It frowns on dissenting views. It frowns on just about anything. My years in the Circle taught me how to separate fact from Chantry claptrap, and to me, it sounds like blood magic is magic like any other, except that it may give us a fighting chance against the darkspawn in the Blight."

 _ **"It is interesting to hear you say that,**_ **da'len.** _ **Many spirits know such secrets, myself among them, and I could teach them to you, if you wish."**_

They were interrupted by a confused and dreaming Arl Eamon, salt-and-pepper hair and beard frazzled and unkempt. "You there! Have you seen my son? I can… I can hear him, but I cannot find him. The blasted fog has me turning in circles."

"A demon has trapped you here, Arl Eamon. This is the Fade," Rayne responded.

"The… what? I don't understand. Is Connor here or not?"

 _ **"It is of no use,**_ **da'len.** _ **He is confused, and all we can do to help is end this nightmare."**_

"You've got a point," Rayne said to his luminescent companion. "Lead the way, Curiosity," he continued, following Curiosity to maker-knows-where while the Arl stumbled fruitlessly through The Fade.

 _ **"Of course,**_ **da'len."**

"Now… You mentioned something earlier… _You_ can teach me blood magic?"

 _ **"If that is your wish**_ **.** _ **"**_

Rayne chuckled a bit as him and his spirit companion continued through the Fade. "But for a price, right? Don't think we weren't warned about deals with spirits."

 _ **"Not at all,**_ **da'len.** _ **Knowledge can be dangerous; I have accumulated enough over the ages to know this well. But I do not believe you would abuse the knowledge I would grant you. Just know that when you make use of blood magic, I will not be able to help you. You will neither be able to perceive nor draw any power from me or the Fade, though I will still be with you. "**_

"Really?" Rayne said, shattering the frozen form of another illusion of Connor twisted by Desire. "That doesn't sound very nice."

 _ **"It would only be temporary,**_ **da'len.** ** _Since you are drawing power from blood and not the Fade, the Fade becomes imperceptible to you. There is a way to circumvent this, of course, but that includes me joining you in the mortal world, something I do not believe either of us are eager to happen."_**

"True enough," Rayne chuckled. " _Ma serannas,_ Curiosity. I will think about it. But for now… shall we go quash Desire?"

 _ **"Nothing would please me more,**_ **da'len."**

* * *

 _Note: It always bothered me that Eamon looked considerably younger than, like, Loghain, when his older sister was Rowan's contemporary. Eamon was 15 during the end of the rebellion (born in 8:84 blessed) and wasn't even there for it all. He returned to Redcliffe in 9:02 Dragon. Yet somehow, he looks older than Loghain despite being only 46 at the time of Origins (9:30 Dragon). I recently found a mod that rectifies that when I play and I tend to picture him like that now. It's here if you want to see what I saw when I was writing this, but Eamon's hair colour really isn't super integral to the story, so if you don't care, don't bother. Just follow this link but take out the spaces._ www .nexusmods dragonage/mods/710


	18. Together We Are Stronger Than the One

**Chapter 17: Together We Are Stronger Than the One**

 _"We welcome your aid, all of you, whether or not you wish to join the Grey Wardens. We need all the help we can get. You have the week to do what you wish here in Redcliffe. Over the course of that week, Alistair, Rayne and myself will discuss our next steps, and a Joining will be held for any who are willing. Should you choose to Join us, be prepared to depart at dawn on the first of Harvestmere."_

 _Was_ that what Eve would do? Join the Grey Wardens? Evelyn Tabris found herself in the forests near Redcliffe castle, silently contemplating all that had happened. The Warden-Commander was an impressive and terrifying woman, and seemed honest enough. But she was done trusting non-elves. Look where trusting Irminric got her.

Maker… Irminric. The first _shem_ she ever really trusted, and he was dead. If she had been there, she would have been able to do… something. Anything. She could have saved him. But no, she had been asleep for the entire ordeal. Eve had spent her whole life thinking humans foul, cruel and cowardly creatures, and then this one went and sacrificed himself to prove her wrong, to save that little abomination. No— she couldn't fault the child for this, but his arrogant parents. His mother's damned pride, thinking that she knew better than the Chantry. Did she not know the Chant?

 _And as the black clouds came upon them, they looked on what pride had wrought, and despaired._

What her pride had wrought was Connor, her own son, being turned into a Maleficar in order to save his father from a blood mage assassin that Isolde herself had _hired_.

 _They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world. Or beyond._

But that wasn't right, was it? Connor was not responsible for what was done, nor was he Maleficar any longer. Surely the Maker would not blame him for what happened. Surely he would be granted rest in this world, and in the next.

Since when did she care this much about the Chant? Irminric's influence, no doubt. The only thing she ever really read, and only because mother and father insisted. Still, she found comfort in its words. She spent some time sitting on the grass, leaning on a tree, and took out the elegantly-crafted dagger she received from her father, the Fang of Fen'Harel. She hoped everyone back home was okay without her protection. Soris would keep them safe. Eventually, she broke into prayer, because what else could she do at this point? She wasn't a good singer, but she thought that her recitation of The Chant sounded pleasant enough when whispered under her breath.

" _My Maker, know my heart:_

 _Take from me a life of sorrow._

 _Lift me from a world of pain._

 _Judge me worthy of Your endless pride._

 _My Creator, judge me whole:_

 _Find me well within Your grace._

 _Touch me with fire that I be cleansed._

 _Tell me I have sung to Your approval."_

She became so caught up in her chanting that she didn't hear her visitors approach from behind her until they made themselves known. Eve heard a childlike voice with a strange accent interrupt her praying by saying: "Oh! Is that the humans's Chant? It sounds pretty, if a little too saucy for my liking."

Eve jumped in surprise, turning around to see Merrill and Enid standing above her smiling. She raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to be offended or laugh. "Saucy?" she asked.

"Don't worry about it," Enid said, putting a hand on Merrill's shoulder and giving her a scolding but understanding look. She was out of her nearly-omnipresent fancy green armour and dressed in what Eve assumed was traditional Dalish garb, her feet bare like Merrill's. The warrior turned to Enid and said: _"Aneth era, lethallan,"_ before sitting down beside her only to be greeted with a blank stare. "Ah. I am sorry. I hadn't realized that our city elf cousins had truly lost so much," Enid continued with genuine sympathy in her eyes. "Our understanding of elvish is fractured and tenuous at best, but…"

As Merrill sat down on her other side, Eve asked: "So you're Dalish, then? We weren't even sure if you were real."

"Well, we are," Merrill said. "And thank Mythal for that. I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't real."

"It's true then, that you don't worship the Maker?"

"Your 'Maker' is a story humans use to explain the world. We have our own stories. The Dalish don't need to borrow theirs', and neither should you," Merrill continued, before backing off at Enid's glare.

"If that's what you decide, of course," Enid said. "But you seem to be… drifting. And we were wondering if we could help."

"No, I don't think so. I'm quite happy worshipping the Maker…" she said without much conviction.

" _Ir abelas._ I am sorry. You misunderstand… We are not trying to convert you. Well, I am not," Enid said, giving Merrill and pointed look. "But you definitely seem at a crossroads, and we were hoping to offer some advice. Have you heard of the _Vir Tanadhal_ , or Way of the Three Trees?"

"I can't say I have," Eve said, not meeting her gaze.

"It's a philosophy epoused by our hunters, based on the teachings of our Goddess of the Hunt, Andruil. We have many such philosophies, but this one is quite popular. What you choose to do with it is up to you," Enid explained, looking at Eve for permission to continue.

"Go on," she granted.

"Very well. _Ma serannas._ It has three components: _Vir Assan_ , the Way of the Arrow: fly straight and do not waver." At this, Enid picked up a stick on the ground and launched it at a tree that was facing them, lodging the stick on the bark with terrifying precision. Following that, Merrill picked up another branch and began to bend it, but it did not snap. Enid continued and motioned to Merrill: " _Vir Bor'assan_ , the Way of the Bow: bend but never break." And lastly, Merrill picked up a small, skinny branch, and broke it in half. She went on to pick up another few weak branches, and tried to break them again to no avail. " _Vir Adahlen_ , the Way of the Forest: together we are stronger than the one." Maker, it's like they had rehearsed this. Enid put her hand on Eve's knee and looked at her warmly. "If you need our help, _lethallan_ , any help, we will be waiting. All you need do is ask. _Vir Adahlen._ "

" _Vir Adahlen_ ," Eve responded, taking comfort in the Dalish cousins she hadn't ever really been aware she even had.

* * *

"Here you go," Rayne said, pouring tea for the First Enchanter, Wynne, Jaime and himself. Rayne was overjoyed to see them all again, pleased beyond measure that they were okay after everything that happened. They were sitting in the Arl's library, a setting quite familiar to mages who had lived in the Circle nearly their entire lives. Garahel was dozing at Rayne's feet, but whined loudly when he realized that he was not, in fact, getting tea. No one seemed too eager to say anything at the moment, so Rayne broke the silence first, addressing the First Enchanter directly: "First Enchanter, I… With Jowan, with his escape and with my outburst earlier… I— I'm sorry. I betrayed the Circle, and you. I don't know what I was thinking, and I still regret it. I shouldn't blame Jowan for what he did, and should not have attacked him like I did."

The First Enchanter sighed heavily before smiling kindly at Rayne, a smile Rayne hadn't seen since before he was recruited. "It is forgotten, Mr. Surana. Recent events have put things in perspective, and it seems a good thing that you were recruited into the Wardens. Furthermore, it seems we will bring Jowan back into our custody after all. Your apology is accepted, nonetheless, and you have done the Circle proud."

Rayne's wisp reacted happily, flitting about his head. "Thank you, First Enchanter."

"You are quite welcome. Now, I understand I will be returning to the Tower with Wynne and Jowan, but without you, Mr. Amell?"

Rayne looked at Jaime excitedly, almost vibrating at the prospect of conscripting his oldest friend, but Jaime's silver eyes were pointed directly at his feet. "Right, Jaime?" Rayne said, his voice faltering. Garahel nudged Jaime's hand, if for nothing else than to make him feel even guiltier.

Jaime finally get his gaze, putting his hand on Rayne's. "I… I'm sorry, Rayne, but I won't be coming with you."

"But you always wanted to escape! I'm giving you your chance. We could find your siblings, see Kirkwall again, all of that!"

"I know, Rayne, and I'm thankful for that, but… The Circle was my home for so long, and I can't leave it now, not in the state it's in. Maybe after we've rebuilt, but I'd feel too guilty now."

Rayne deflated instantly, tears welling up in his eyes. He looked like he was about to say something he'd regret, but stopped himself and instead said: "Okay… okay. Fine. I get it, but… wish you would've told me sooner, y'know?"

"Yeah," Jaime said. "I'm sorry."

"And on that topic, Irving," Wynne said, setting her tea down on the table. "I have a request. I seek leave to follow the Grey Wardens."

"Wynne… we need you here. The Circle needs you," the First Enchanter responded, eyes pleading to an old friend.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Irving, but the Circle will do fine without me. The Circle has you. And Mr. Amell. These Grey Wardens are good and true, and I've already discussed the matter with the Warden-Commander."

"You never were one to stay in the tower when there was adventure to be had elsewhere," Irving conceded.

"Why stay when I can be of service elsewhere?"

"Then I give you leave to follow the Grey Wardens, but know that you always have a place here. As do you, Mr. Surana."

"Thank you, Irving."

"Thank you, First Enchanter."

Garahel barked in agreement.

* * *

"She is _Orlesian_ , Warden-Commander. An Orlesian bard! She was a player of the Great Game. Lying is in her nature. Death and deception are her trade. It is what she is, what she will always be!" Nathaniel insisted, almost yelling now. Keegan was sitting at the Arl's desk in his study, and Nathaniel was standing in front of him. Leliana was near the door, trying her hardest to disappear, and Mercy stood in front of her, staring unflinchingly at Nathaniel's comparatively tiny form before her.

"It is what I _was_ ; I am part of that life no longer, Arl Howe. The Maker saved me from that life," Leliana responded, struggling to hold back her tears. Still, Mercy noticed her strategic use of "Arl Howe", when Nathaniel was anything but right now. The two young noblemen insisted on being addressed by their noble titles, despite the fact that neither held one right now, nor were they even close to being confirmed by the landsmeet. Still, it was a good strategy: get people thinking of you that way now so that they never think of you as anything else.

"That's what you say, but this is all a ruse! That's what they do; they get you to trust them however they can, and then they stab you in the back! King Maric fell for it during the rebellion; we can't let the Wardens fall for it now."

"Nathaniel," Mercy said calmly, her violet eyes boring into his grey ones. "I know what bards are, and I have always known Leliana had secrets, but she is earnest in her desire to help us, and I'm certain she will do nothing to compromise our mission. She is not the only one with secrets, after all."

"Thank you, Warden-Commander," Leliana said, hugging herself.

"But how do you _know_ that, Warden-Commander Hissera? You can't be sure."

"My parents were secret police for the qunari, and they were being taught to deceive and recognize deception while they were still learning to _read_. After they escaped, they passed some of that training onto me. Leliana has given me no reason to doubt her. End of discussion."

"Teyrn Cousland, give me a hand?" Nathaniel pleaded. Keegan had been sitting back in the Arl's chair observing the exchange impassively, his hands together and resting on his stomach.

"If it's good enough for the Warden-Commander, it's good enough for me. The Wardens take all kinds— even Orlesians— and I've heard firsthand how useful a turned Orlesian bard can be."

"Keegan—"

"Arl Howe, the matter is closed. You are all dismissed," he said, standing up and starting out the door, a glaring Nathaniel Howe in tow, leaving Mercy and Leliana alone in the study.

"On your head be the consequences, Commander," Howe snarled as he was leaving.

"Thank you, Mercy. You did not have to stick up for me, but I appreciate it nonetheless," Leliana said to the qunari.

"We've all got our past; what matters is what you're doing now. We're in this together, Leliana, and some grouchy son of an asshole Arl isn't going to change that. Now, c'mere," Mercy said, embracing her Orlesian companion in a much-needed hug. If there was ever any doubt before, it was assuaged now. Leliana knew how to play people: the faces to make, the things to say. Lying came as naturally to her as breathing. But in this, she was genuine. That much Mercy could tell.

"Thank you, Mercy," Leliana said, letting herself forget about the Blight for a second and get lost in Mercy's embrace.


	19. Maraas Imekari

_Note: So I'm taking a few chapters to give everyone a breather at Redcliffe and do some much-needed character development, but they'll be off pursuing treaties and stuff again soon!_

* * *

 **Chapter 18: _Maraas Imekari_**

"Your sister taught you this game? She must have been a genius or something. I _still_ don't get it," Alistair complained as he laid out his fifth losing hand of Diamondback in a row.

"Not a genius, _salroka._ Just slightly more intelligent than the average nug," Mayrin responded teasingly.

"Ah!" Alistair emoted, feigning indignation and putting his hand across his heart. "You wound me, Mister Brosca. How could you be so cruel?"

"Be careful, my dear Warden," Zevran said from beside Mayrin. "This friend of yours' appears most fragile for a warrior. You wouldn't want to break him."

Diala was… hesitant about the assassin Mayrin and the others had brought back. In Orzammar, she learned not to take assassination attempts personally, but she had never shacked up with an assassin two days after meeting them. She waited a week, at least. Alistair _had_ shared her concerns when they talked last night before bed, but the elf's easy laugh and charming manner seemed to be winning him over. He seemed genuine enough, but he was an Antivan Crow— a guild so infamous that whispers of their order even reached Orzammar— and he could easily be biding his time. There were quite a few Wardens now, after all, and there would be more before the week was over. Mayrin was a good man, and he was smart and practical; he had to be, growing up in the slums. She just hoped the duster knew what he was doing.

After losing another hand, Alistair declared: "Okay, that's it. We're playing Wicked Grace this time!"

"Are you certain, Alistair? You should never bet against an Antivan, you know," Zevran winked.

"Is that a challenge, Arainai? I'll make you eat those words!" Alistair said as him and Zevran began to explain the game to the dwarfs.

After they all lost a not-small amount of coin to the Antivan elf, Alistair suggested raiding the Arl's wine cellar. Him and Mayrin excused themselves to begin their quest for alcohol, leaving Diala with the Crow.

"So, I understand you were a princess, my lady dwarf. Is your entire family as beautiful as you, or were you some kind of fluke? Because I must say, you are simply _breathtaking_."

"Ancestors, elf, do you _ever_ shut up?" Diala sighed, exasperated.

"Not in my experience, no. But stranger things have happened!"

Diala was out of her chair and on him in a second, grabbing his collar with her callused hands. "Here's the thing, elf: I don't trust you. I don't _like_ you—"

"Oh, I had no idea!" Zevran interrupted sarcastically, completely unfazed by the manhandling.

"Let me speak," Diala growled. "Whatever your intentions are with Mayrin, you better not hurt the duster."

"My dear lady, I couldn't if I tried! And I have. You know this, yes? It is how we met. Quite a romantic tale, one full of—"

"That's not what I mean and you know it, you blighter. You can betray us all, kill the Fereldan Wardens one by one and unleash an unchecked Blight on Thedas. That's business. That, I can understand. But if you hurt Mayrin- really hurt him, I'll feed you to the darkspawn myself," she said with enough conviction that the Antivan wasn't able to come up with a convincingly flippant response in time. With that, she released her grip on his collar and let him fall to the ground, returning to her seat across from him. He picked himself up, frowning only momentarily before lazily sitting back into his chair and slipping back into his carefree façade.

The two of them sat in an uneasy silence until their companions returned, Mayrin leading the way with a bottle in hand. "Who's ready to try some West Hill Brandy?"

This was greeted with cheers from Diala and Zevran, though the former took satisfaction in seeing that the latter was still shaken. Yeah, Mayrin could take care of himself, but it wouldn't hurt to have a former princess of Orzammar looking out for him.

* * *

Warden Cadoc Wulff found himself in the practice yard with some of Redcliffe's soldiers, bann Teagan, Sten and Shale. He sparred with Felix, Keegan's mabari, for awhile, until Felix went off to play with another mabari with a coat as black as night and eyes of gold. He asked Sten and Shale to spar, but the two of them didn't even dignify that with a response, which offended Cadoc. He was a Warden, too, now. He could fight. He'd been fighting the avvar his whole life, and then Izot had to go and run off with one. Maker, Cadoc hoped his sister was okay.

After a good hour of sparring with bann Teagan, Ser Perth, and the men, Cadoc grabbed himself some water and leaned against one of the castle walls, dazzled by the deadly dance between golem and qunari. Sten would strike at Shale with seemingly no effect, but always knew where to hit to give the golem pause. Shale, in turn, delivered thunderous blows to the qunari, and Sten could only parry and dodge so many. Those blows would have killed a lesser man. What's more is that they seemed to be carrying on a conversation _while_ they were fighting.

"What do you estimate are the chances of success, qunari?" Shale asked, striking at Sten's head but finding no purchase as the giant ducked out of the way.

"For the Grey Wardens? Little to none," Sten responded as he struck at Shale's knee, causing pebbles to fly and the giant to stumble momentarily.

This caught Cadoc's attention. He stepped towards his two strangest companions to listen in.

"So, why does it follow? I do not risk death, but it does," Shale asked, this time landing a blow on Sten's torso and pushing him back along the ground.

"My mission is no different from the Grey Warden's. I must see this through to the end," Sten continued, slashing down at Shale only to have his blow parried by the golem's arms.

"Hold for a moment," Cadoc commanded with more authority in his voice than he felt inside. Sten and Shale stopped fighting immediately, but neither of them appeared intimidated, only confused and mildly annoyed.

"Yes, Warden?" Sten asked, sheathing his sword.

"What do you mean, we don't have a big chance? The Wardens are uniting the nobility, invoking old treaties, doing everything they— we— can to stop this Blight."

"Believe what you wish Warden, but nothing I have seen indicates that what you are doing will have any degree of success. You are not qunari. It is not your fault," Sten responded. Shale was watching the exchange curiously, and it was garnering the attention of the knights and the bann.

"What? You're saying only the qunari can stop the Blight? We did fine without you the last four times it happened," Cadoc responded, flabbergasted by the qunari's arrogance.

" _That_ is up for debate. I am not saying this Blight will not end, but the way that your leaders fight amongst themselves, the difficulty you have had enforcing the treaties, and your overall lack of any coherent societal structure to speak of lead me to believe that this Blight will be even longer than those that preceded it."

"Stop talking, qunari. Stop talking **now** ," Cadoc said, dangerously close to exploding. If Sten was right, why had Mercy saved him in the first place? Why didn't she just let him die and be done with it?

"As you wish, Warden. It is a wonder you even speak sometimes," Sten said dismissively.

Then everything turned red. This was Ferelden. These were the Grey Wardens. This was something worth fighting for. How could Sten be so dismissive of it? Cadoc charged at Sten, axe raised and ready to slash, and brought it down in a wide arc towards the qunari, only to have Sten block the hit with his blade. For a second, Cadoc saw surprise in his eyes before they returned to their usual passive contempt.

" _Parshaara, basra!"_ Sten said with more emotion than Cadoc had ever heard. He pushed the human away with his sword and regarded him curiously. "You are at a crossroads, _bas._ You rage and rage like _maraas imekari_ but do not understand why _._ You lack resolve, dedication. I can show you what true resolve is, if that helps you to stop bleating like a _qalaba._ "

"A fight, is it?" Shale sighed. "Don't kill the Warden too quickly, qunari. That would be awfully boring."

Ignoring Shale, Cadoc responded: "That sounds… agreeable, Sten."

Sten nodded, saying: "Very well," before charging at Cadoc Wulff with a cold fury the likes of which he had never encountered. This would definitely be a learning experience for the young Wulff pup. " _Anaan esaam Qun!_ "

* * *

Isolde was reading to Connor in bed. She hadn't left his room for hours now, and was terrified to let her poor baby out of her sight, especially now that he was going to be shipped off to the Circle like some common mage. He was her baby boy. He _needed_ his mother.

"—and then vanished as swiftly as it had appeared," Isolde said as she finished reading _Andraste & the Wyvern_ from Sister Marigold's _Bedtime Stories for Good Children,_ stroking Connor's soft hair lovingly. She then heard the unmistakable clicking of mabari claws on the stone castle floors, and Connor looked at his mother excitedly. The mabari were one of Isolde's favourite things about Ferelden, second to Eamon and Connor, of course.

Eventually, she heard some scratching at the door, and went to get it, Connor laughing excitedly. One mabari bounded in excitedly, leaping onto Connor's bed. His chestnut brown fur marked him as Felix, the Cousland boy's pup. Connor pet him excitedly as Felix gave him enough kisses for a lifetime, slobbering everywhere. Behind him was a markedly less-excited mabari with raven fur and intelligent golden eyes, even more intelligent than the average mabari. This one entered slowly and gave Isolde the most disdainful look she had ever seen from a dog before morphing into a beautiful, dangerous-looking woman with the same golden eyes as the dog. This was Morrigan, the apostate.

Connor yelped in surprise, and Isolde nearly fell off her chair. "Apostate! Get away from my son! We have had enough trouble from your kind!"

The witch chuckled at that. "You surely realize that your son _is_ my kind, yes? In fact, 'twould appear that he is the only mage in Redcliffe now that does not have dispensation from the Chantry to be here, other than myself, of course. Furthermore, 'tis quite unlikely I could cause any more trouble than you already have." Isolde bristled at that, but could offer nothing in response. Morrigan was right, after all.

"Mother, is she going to be one of my teachers at the Circle? Forgive me for saying so, ma'am, but you don't look like the other mages here," Connor asked, hugging a Felix who had nustled himself deftly into Connor's lap.

Before the Arlessa could answer, Morrigan let out a mirthless chuckle and sat herself at the foot of the bed, which caused Felix to wag his tale excitedly. She had the mabari's approval, at least. "No, child, I will not be an instructor of yours', nor will I ever set foot in Kinloch Hold. However, as one apostate mage to another, I offer you some advice," she continued, Isolde seeing genuine compassion in the witch's eyes for the first time since they had met. "What happened here was not your own fault, but rather your mother's and your father's."

"A rather impertinent accu—" Isolde interrupted before Morrigan did the same.

"Quiet, woman, or I will turn you into a toad right now." Isolde did as she was told. "Now, child… You have already learned the first thing about being a mage: you should never trust a spirit. You have nothing to fear from spirit nor demon so long as you ignore them."

"Okay, miss. Is there another one?" Connor asked.

Isolde noticed the witch bite back a snarky response before inhaling deeply and regaining her composure. "Indeed. Now listen, child, and listen well: the Circle and the Chantry will try to tell you to fear your magic, that it is a curse, a sickness, but 'tis simply because they are jealous of you. Learn from what they teach you, eat their food, live with them, but never submit to them. You are a supremely powerful young mage, and that power should be embraced, nurtured and respected for the gift that it is, no matter what they say. Listen not to the Chantry's drivel, and walk your own path, wherever that may lead you."

Connor contemplated the words for a moment, before nodding at Morrigan. "Thank you, miss. I'll remember that. I have a question, though, if it's not too much trouble."

"Connor, I think that—" Isolde continued only to be interrupted again.

"'Tis not. Ask away, Mister Guerrin," Morrigan chuckled, but it was genuine this time.

"Will I learn how to turn into a mabari too?" he asked excitedly. Felix barked, realizing that that would just mean more playmates for him.

"Unfortunately, 'tis not something you can learn in the Circle. However, I promise you this: should we ever see one another again, 'twill be the first thing I teach you," she said, giving Connor a kiss on the forehead before standing up and turning back to Isolde, her cold veneer returned. "Should you ever tell anyone about this, Orlesian—"

"I understand, Lady Morrigan," Isolde said respectfully. "Toad."

Morrigan nodded before returning to her mabari form, running off into the night with Felix in tow.

* * *

Well, Jowan was in the dungeon. Again. He sat on the cold, damp floor and contemplated his rather hopeless situation. Everything he had done was for nothing: Lily had been shipped off to Aeonar, Rayne hated him, Jaime seemed to completely ignore him, and Greagoir would no doubt have him executed when he returned to the tower. But hey, at least they brought him food for this stay in the familiar dungeon of Redcliffe, and didn't torture him, so things were looking up for old Jowan.

 _"Maker_ , _what have I done?"_ he asked himself for the umpteenth time before he heard the familiar turning of a key in a lock. The door to the dungeon open and he perceived a singular set of footsteps approaching his cell. Eventually, Warden-Commander Hissera, dressed in an indigo doublet, brown slacks and black leather boots, her swords at her sides and her white hair flowing free, presented herself before Jowan and regarded him curiously, the shadows hiding her expression from the blood mage.

"Jowan, right?" "Yes, Warden-Commander," he responded meekly, stepping forward to the bars of his cells.

"Well, Jowan, if what I've heard from Rayne is true, I have a proposal for you."

* * *

 _Notes: I was wrestling with including Connor and Morrigan's scene before her Inquisition character development, but I figure that I've already changed canon in establishing a relationship between Morrigan and Enid in the prologue (even if Enid was unaware), so Morrigan be just a little bit less... prickly than in canon, but not noticeably so to most other people in the story._

 _Qunlat translations:_

 _Maraas imekari is "a child bleating without meaning"_

 _Qalaba is a type of cow the qunari breed, known for its stupidity_

 _Anaan esaam Qun means Victory in the Qun! (it's just one of Sten's in game battle cries)_

 _Don't forget to review!_


	20. The Subtlety of a High Dragon

**Chapter 19: The Subtlety of a High Dragon**

A day before they were to leave, a letter from Arl Wulff arrived, informing the Wardens that his main force would be there soon, some avvar tribesmen in tow. Apparently, his daughter's marriage to one of them wasn't as terrible a thing as he originally thought. Wulff was bringing all of his six remaining children with him, for his second-eldest daugher was squiring in the Free Marches. His wife, Elva, and all of his married childrens' spouses would also be accompanying them. Refugees and freeholders had been filtering in from West Hills over the past week, replacing townsfolk lost in the attacks from the undead.

Bann Teagan and Arlessa Isolde worked to oversee the reconstruction efforts and work to make the castle itself more defensible. Furthermore, over the course of the week, several mysterious individuals in purple clothing of undetermined origins arrived to help as well. Each of them got a vote of confidence from Rayne, who was incredibly tight-lipped about who they were other than that they could be trusted.

Jaime was sad to leave the Redcliffe and freedom, but eager to get back to the tower and rebuild. It was an odd feeling, caring about the Maker-damned tower. Wynne, Rayne and Garahel followed him, Connor, the First Enchanter and bann Teagan down to the dungeons to fetch Jowan, put him into chains, and drag him back to the Circle. How had things come to this? A few months ago, things were normal. He was a recently-harrowed mage. Rayne would follow, and then Jowan, if things went according to plan. Now, he was here.

Connor was holding Jaime's hand, nervous at being down in his castle's dungeons for the first time. Garahel was nuzzling into Connor's ribs for comfort. They eventually approached Jowan's cell, surprised to see Mercy standing in front of it. Most of them were perplexed with this appearance, but Connor could not have been more excited. He, of course, was incredibly thankful to Rayne for saving him, but he just thought Mercy was so darn cool.

"Warden-Commander, what are you doing here?" bann Teagan asked, but Rayne had already figured it out.

"Andraste's tits, Mercy, you can't be serious," he said. Jaime covered Connor's ears at Rayne's language, but he knew the child heard it when he chuckled and put a hand over his mouth to hide it.

"Sorry, Rayne," she said, ignoring the blasphemy to which everyone had become so accustomed. "We need all the help we can get," she continued sadly.

"Warden-Commander," the First Enchanter began to say. "This course of action is… Unwise."

"Once again, I must apologize, but my mind is made up. Bann Teagan, First Enchanter Irving: I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription, and remand Jowan into Grey Warden custody."

* * *

Eve heard a knock at the door and looked up to see the pale, grumpy human standing in the doorway. "Eve, correct?" Nathaniel asked, apparently not bothering with an introduction.

"Yeah. Why does it matter to you, _shem?_ "

"I apologize," he responded genuinely. "I had heard that you were going to Denerim with us, and I just wanted to get to know you a little better, if we are to be traveling together."

"Maybe. I might go see the Dalish instead, so don't be counting on the elf to carry your shit and string your bow for you."

"I would presume nothing of the sort, my lady. You were instrumental in the defence of Redcliffe, and I was looking forward to learning from you, and to having your expertise on the inner workings of the capital. Your experience would be invaluable," Nathaniel said as respectfully as possible.

"Good to know. I'll keep that in mind," Eve said dismissively, finally meeting his eyes but not letting even the tiniest spectre of an expression cross her face. _My lady_. Either he was mocking her or was cut from the same cloth Irminric was, but it was hard to tell.

"That is all I ask," Nathaniel said respectfully, bowing deeply before setting out the door. After a few seconds, he returned to the room and took a deep breath. "And, my lady?"

Eve sighed in exasperation. "Yes, Howe?"

"I only wished to say… I am sorry for what happened to Ser Irminric. I had never encountered him or any of the Eremons before arriving in Redcliffe, but he seemed like a good man. If we all learned to be a little bit more like Ser Irminric, Thedas would be better for it."

Eve looked at him for a moment, searching for the slightest hint of insincerity. But in this, he seemed honest. "… Thank you, Nathaniel. Your words are appreciated."

* * *

" _Another_ invitation from Howe, Erlina?" Anora asked, incredulous, as she threw the note into her fireplace. "He cannot honestly believe that I am stupid enough to visit him in his estate at a time like this."

Erlina chuckled a bit as she finished tying the queen's hair into the buns she so adored. It was early in the morning, and the rest of the palace was asleep. Erlina enjoyed moments like this, when it seemed like her and her queen were the only two people in the world. "Your Majesty, I don't believe there is a limit to what Rendon Howe will believe. He has all the subtlety of a high dragon."

"True enough, Erlina," Anora chuckled, taking a bite of her breakfast.

"Your Majesty, I apologize for bringing up the topic again, but I must insist something be done about the Arl. I fear for your safety."

"And _I_ will once again insist that we wait until Keegan arrives. I will not have you needlessly risking your life in his estate alone when allies are but a few days away."

"Your Majesty, I was a Shadow. I can—"

"Erlina. Enough. My answer has not changed. We wait for Keegan."

"Yes, Your Ma—" Erlina began to respond before hearing heavy footsteps and clinking armour outside the door in the hallway. They exchanged a quizzical look before nodding at one another and preparing themselves for what may come. Erlina unveiled two of her hidden daggers and quickly coated them in poison while Anora did the same, fastening them to her belt. Erlina positioned herself to the right of the door while Anora sat calmly back down in her chair, re-initiating conversation.

"And did you hear that Lady Habren is in town?" Anora asked, staring at the door with her hands on the hilts of her daggers. "It's unbelievable, if you ask me."

Erlina managed a manufactured chuckle, twirling one of her blades in her hand. "As you say, Your Majesty. What might—" Erlina started before being interrupted by an agressive knock on the door.

"Queen Anora! We've been ordered to take you into custody for your own protection! The Horde has reached Ferelden!"

Anora and Erlina exchanged a curious look before Anora gave the man permission to enter. As soon as the door opened, she came face-to-face with a man whose armour marked him as a former member of Harwen Raleigh's infamous Hard Line, a group of troops who, during the Rebellion, became known for rape, torture and other war crimes. After being stripped of his lands by King Maric, Raleigh came into the employ of Denerim's Arl Urien until disappearing under mysterious circumstances— some say he was tangled up with Orlesian agents— a few years ago. Apparently, Howe was still employing The Hard Line's leftovers, despite publicly firing them upon arrival in Denerim. _Wonderful._

The man's helmet covered most of his face, but she could see his unkempt beard poking out from the bottom. He drew his longsword as him and his compatriot entered the room, the one who knocked chuckling to himself. "I'm afraid this is the end of the line for you, Your Majesty. Teyrn Howe sends his regards," he said, before turning to investigate the thud he heard behind him and seinge that his companion was already dead on the floor, a dagger in his neck and an elven maiden looming over him. He was unsure of what to do, looking between the two women, and that moment of hesitation gave Anora the chance to step towards him to draw her crimson drakestone dagger across his throat and kick him to the ground.

Erlina picked up, cleaned and sheathed her dagger. "Shall I call for the guard, Your Majesty? We can tell them what happened."

"Please do. They can clean this mess up. This is concerning, however. Howe was smarter than I expected; he _very_ publicly fired The Hard Line when he came to Denerim, so he will be able to disavow any of their actions or association with them. Father would believe me, but I cannot discount the possibility of him being party to this…" Anora trailed off.

"Your Majesty, this was clumsy enough, but there is no guarantee that the next attempt will follow suit. Surely you agree that action must be taken, _n'est pas_?"

"Once again, I am not authorizing a solo attempt without some kind of support for you. Were you caught, the best possible outcome is Howe using you as proof to overthrow me, proof of my 'ineptness'. The worst, though… You could be killed, or worse," Anora said, quietly calculating her options. "No… As much as it pains me to say it, we must retreat for now, and lay low. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Just one, Your Majesty," Erlina offered. "But nobody will ever think to look for you where we are going."

"Perfect. _Je te remercie encore une fois de ton aide, ma chère._ Begin preparations immediately."


	21. A Cruel Mercy

**Chapter 20: A Cruel Mercy**

Keegan was sitting in the Arl's study drafting some more letters before he set out for Denerim to meet up with Anora. Maker, he hoped she was okay. He was safe and established enough in Redcliffe to reveal his hand, and if assassins were sent, he would already be gone. He written letters for Arl Bryland with Nathaniel's input. Even if Bryland had cut ties with the Howes after his sister's marriage to Rendon, he hoped Nathaniel's condemnation and Keegan's support would convince Bryland of the rightness of their cause. With Eve's help, he wrote the letter to bann Alfstanna, informing her of her brother's death, and the two of them sent their condolences. They left out the part about Jowan's conscription.

Letters were also sent to the majority of the bannorn and some key arlings, of course leaving out Ceorlic, ever Loghain's sniveling crony. He did not anticipate all of the letters arriving nor did he anticipate them being believed, but if he could sow doubt, that would be enough. Reports of Howe's treachery and Loghain's crimes— against both his king and the Chantry— would at least give the nobility pause. To his uncle Robert, bann of the Storm Coast, and his husband, Edward, he sent a more detailed letter written in the Cousland family cipher, which the Mac Eanraigs had adopted when mother married father. Mother's other two siblings had died at Ostagar with Fergus, but the son bann Robert still had all of his troops.

A knock on the door interrupted the monotony of his writing, and he was happy to be given the reprieve. "Come in," he beckoned.

Alistair Therin entered, his face a comical mix of anger and trepidation. "Teyrn Cousland," he said, bowing. "I have a matter I need to discuss with you." The bastard prince's usual levity was gone, replaced by a quiet fury. He'd seen that look from Maric at a landsmeet he attended as a child. He could scarcely recall what set the King off, but the look haunted Keegan for years to come. He could recall it with perfect clarity to this day.

"Yes, Warden Alistair?" he responded, his icy blue eyes peering at Alistair and trying to discern what set him off.

"I have come to speak with you about Warden-Commander Hissera and her most recent decision."

"Ah," Keegan intoned, realizing what this is all about. "The conscription of the blood mage, yes?"

"Yes, exactly! You understand! Surely you can ask her to change her mind, or convince her. You're a teyrn. We can't recruit a blood mage!"

"And what do your other Wardens think of the matter?" Keegan asked passively.

"They… Well, the dwarves don't care, but it's because they don't _understand_. And Enid is wary, but trusts Mercy. Cadoc feels as I do, and Rayne is fuming, but refuses to fight Mercy on it. Usually, I would trust the Commander, but this… This is too far."

"Alistair, this is a Blight. The Grey Wardens do whatever it takes to combat it, do they not? This isn't too far. Far from it."

"How can you say that?!" Alistair screamed, standing once again. If Keegan was startled, he didn't show it. "He _poisoned_ Arl Eamon," Alistair continued. "It's his fault that all of those people are dead, that Connor might grow up without a father! I know how you feel about Eamon, but what Jowan did cannot be forgotten nor forgiven."

"Perhaps not, Alistair. But, again, this is a Blight. Your feelings don't matter; doing your duty and saving Ferelden are the things that matter. For that, there is no line I will not cross, no enemy I won't sleep with, no blood mage I would turn away."

"You can't be serious, Keegan. It might be war, but we still have our principles."

"This isn't war, Alistair. This isn't about conquering or winning. It's about survival. Of _course_ I'm serious, with everything on the line."

"Really?" Alistair asked doubtfully. "And if Arl Howe decided to one day join the Wardens, or Loghain? What would you say then?" the bastard prince asked confidently, a smug smile finding its way to his lips.

"That's... That's simple. Loghain is one of the greatest generals in history, and his martial skill is surpassed only by his tactical mind. And Howe is… Well, he's a viper. He murdered my entire family and betrayed his oldest friend. By the same token, however, he is a tenacious fighter with a keen mind for underhanded tactics, and could also be an asset. If it meant stopping the Blight, I would charge into battle with Rendon Howe and the Empress of Orlais herself at my side," Keegan said, sounding more and more like a Tranquil as he continued talking. Alistair was speechless, absolutely flabbergasted that the last remaining Cousland could be so cold.

"Furthermore, Alistair, ask yourself _why_ she is doing what she's doing, even outside of her duty as a Warden. Jowan is sure to be executed by the templars, yet the Commander is choosing to save him. Her parents may have been tal-vashoth, but they still grew up under the Qun, and under the Qun, names have meaning, and I have no doubt Warden-Commander Hissera's is no different."

"Mercy," Alistair said realizing the significance of it for the first time.

"Indeed. And _hissera_ means hope. In her view, everyone is deserving of mercy, nobody is beyond hope of redemption. I think that's a commendable attitude to have. And if you disagree, take it up with your commander," he declared, pausing for a moment. "But stop whining to me."

* * *

"Do not presume you can have your dog fetch me like some bone whenever the mood suits you," Morrigan said as she strode into Rayne's room, throwing the door open in what was transparently an attempt at melodrama.

"Yet you came," Rayne said from his desk, looking up from what he was studying to meet Morrigan's eyes.

"Your mongrel was… Most insistent. Now, may I ask why I am here?" Garahel whined indignantly at that. He wasn't a _mongrel_ ; he was a pure-bred mabari! Morrigan could be so mean sometimes, but he still loved her.

Rayne closed the tome he was studying for the moment and opened one of his desk drawers, producing a short necklace made of several strands of silver chain. He stood up and walked towards her, holding it out.

"Oh? And what's this?

"A— A gift, if that would be acceptable," Rayne stammered. Why has he so nervous? Him and Jaime grew up _constantly_ flirting with one another or with any number of other apprentices in the tower.

Morrigan turned around and help up any strands of hair that were not already tied up, inviting Rayne to put the necklace on. When his hands grazed her skin, he had to supress a shiver. Morrigan was _electric._

"A fine gift! You have my thanks," she said, turning back around and eyeing him curiously. "Was this the reason for my summons? 'Twould seem this gift could have been given on the road when we set out tomorrow."

"You're right, but that's not the only reason I asked Garahel to get you" he said, motioning for her to follow him back to his desk as the mabari snuggled up beside the fire. "When I was in the tower, I… Well, I stole an incredibly interesting book from the First Enchanter. I've been trying to decode or translate it since I got it, but the language appears to be an odd variant of ancient elvish with traces of ancient alammari and hidden in a cipher," Rayne continued as he picked the book up from his desk. "Considering your… Unconventional upbringing, I was hoping that—" was all Rayne could say before Morrigan hungrily snatched the grimoire out of his hands and ran her hand along the cover with something almost resembling reverence.

"I take it you know what this is, then," Rayne asked, chuckling.

"I do indeed. 'Tis… A grimoire that once belonged to my mother. I was to ask you if you had come across it but… This… This is most fortuitous. You have my thanks. I will begin study of the tome immediately."

"Or…" Rayne said, putting his hand on her's and trying it. "We could do that tomorrow night, and spend this one… Finding other ways to occupy our time."

Morrigan considered for a moment before smiling at the elf and putting the tome on his desk. "Very well, Surana. 'Twill be most interesting to see if the rumours of Grey Warden stamina are to be believed."

* * *

 _Note:_ _I know Jaime and Rayne already kissed and seemed pretty close, but this is the way I see it: mages are raised in isolation in the Circle, banned from marrying. If they reproduce, the child is taken from them. As such, I saw no reason why they would have any reason to be monogamous, or even have a real concept of ownership or claim when it comes to relationships. Kind of like a free love commune kinda thing. I'm not saying that everyone at the tower is having sex with everyone else all the time (not that that's a bad thing), but I picture it a lot more liberal than the outside world in regards to this issue._


	22. They Call You Broken, a Coward

_Note: updates will be sporadic over the next week or so. I've got four midterms in just as many days and then a busy weekend ahead, but when that's done it should be back to normal!_

 _Thanks again to all who have read so far and to Judy and the anonymous guest for your kind reviews! I really appreciate it! Everyone else that has read: let me know what you think! We're almost at 1000 views!_

* * *

 **Chapter 21: They Call You Broken, a Coward, and a Failure**

Jowan was cold. Jowan's feet hurt. Jowan's legs were sore. Jowan's head was throbbing from all the crying. Jowan couldn't figure out what in the Maker's name he was doing. He was surprised he even survived the Joining, let alone this journey. He never imagined being a Grey Warden would involve so much _walking._

The Warden-Commander was strong and kind enough, but he could tell she was wary of him, and seemed to be regretting her decision to recruit him more every day. The golem would have been fascinating to study… if it hadn't named Jowan "the fool mage" and was capable of getting through a single conversation with him without rolling its eyes. The qunari ignored him entirely, which suited Jowan quite well, as he found Sten terrifying. The merchant they were traveling the Soldier's Peak with, Levi, was more terrified of Jowan the dreaded blood mage than the two qunari or the golem. The only person to show him genuine kindness or interest was the Chantry sister Leliana, and even then he wasn't sure she was being honest or patronizing.

It had been slow-going through the bannorn so far. The civil war was in full force, and the bone-chilling cold that came with Harvestmere wasn't helping matters. According to the others, it would only get colder from here, but Jowan didn't see how it could. He'd always been fascinated reading about weather in the tower, but experiencing it was something different entirely. Mercy told him that he was lucky they didn't have to contend with bugs anymore, which had apparently given Rayne a lot of difficulty when first leaving the tower.

Maker. _Rayne_. Apparently he was supposed to come to Soldier's Peak with them, but him and Morrigan changed their minds and joined the expedition to Denerim at the last minute. Denerim wasn't an option for Jowan right now, and they all agreed he'd be useless in the Brecilian Forest with the elves. Well, more useless.

The sun was setting, and they were on the way out of bann Loren's lands. Mercy had run into someone who knew the former king, and informed everyone that they would be returning to Ostagar soon. Mercy was walking up front, lost in conversation with Leliana, while Sten and Shale were behind them, discussing the merits of the Qun. Jowan was bringing up the rear with Levi, who refused to even look at him. They were on a narrow path with a cliffside to their right and a river to their left when Mercy suggested stopping for camp before being cut off by an arrow bouncing off her Warden armour.

Jowan looked to see a well-equipped band of mercenaries coming out of the woodwork: human, qunari, elf and even mage. Without a second's hesitation, his companions charged into battle as Levi went to find somewhere to hide. While they did that, Jowan took out his staff and cast… nothing.

" _Ebost issala tal-vashoth!_ " he heard Sten scream as the giant lopped off the head of the qunari he was fighting. Leliana grunted as she took an arrow to the shoulder, but returned the gesture in kind, landing a shot right in the forehead of her assailant.

"You know, Sten," Mercy said as she bisected a human in front of her with her longswords, "seeing how you treat other vashoth makes me really thankful you swore to follow me and not to fight me."

Ahead of them all, Shale had crossed a makeshift wooden bridge and was knocking all who came before it straight into the river to be swept away, arrows and swords bouncing off the golem's hide with impunity. The magic being slung, however, did not. Before them all, Shale was frozen in place, sickly yellowing rings appearing around its massive form.

"Jowan!" Mercy yelled. "They have a mage! We need you!"

Jowan didn't move. He couldn't. After all his magic had wrought, how could he—

And then Sten was knocked unconscious by a fireball while Mercy contended with one of the last humans in their path. His companions were falling and, still, Jowan did nothing.

"JOWAN!" Mercy screamed as she was struck by a bolt of lightning. It did not deter her, though; she was only slowed momentarily. Leliana's arrows were bouncing off the mage's barrier. Finally, Jowan cast a paralyze spell, and Mercy finished the job for him, lopping the mage's head clean off.

That could have been him.

The five of them regrouped near the last remaining survivor, and Sten drew his blade before being interrupted by Leliana.

"Stop. Don't kill him," she commanded. Sten looked at the still-smoking form of Mercy for assurance before sheathing his blade. Mercy, for her part, gave Jowan a dirty look before standing beside Leliana.

"Jowan," she said, the anger in her voice barely contained. "Go stand with Levi. We have business to conduct."

* * *

"Bann Teagan, you have a visitor," Ser Perth announced as the door was opened to Eamon's study. Teagan was coordinating training and reconstruction efforts now and thought it only logical if Eamon's study was used to coordinate efforts and maintain books.

Through the door entered a nearly six-foot-tall woman wearing nondescript travelling leathers and a fine purple cloak. The cloak marked her as one of the mages from the Collective, something with which bann Teagan was not at all comfortable. But that was something to be dealt with after the Blight. The Collective had already proven their worth in construction efforts. She had short black hair, piercing blue eyes, and skin as pale as snow. She carried a black iron spear tipped with silverite that had snake designs etched in silver slinking along the shaft. It was most likely her staff, but Teagan thought better of speaking out of turn when alone with an eccentric apostate. At her side was a white mabari with orange spots, which did, to her credit, speak incredibly well of her.

"Bann Teagan," she said respectfully enough, giving him a slight bow. "Name's Mel. Member of the Collective, lifelong apostate and functioning alcoholic. You've got a nice castle. Lots of shiny things." Her accent marked her as a Marcher.

"I… Thank you?" Teagan asked, frowning. He was both perplexed by and suspicious of the woman before him. "It is a pleasure to meet you… Mel."

"No problem! Anyways, I've been working with some of the people in the castle and the town— nice town, by the way, but a little sparse— and I heard some things. Is it true that there was a mage here from the Ferelden Circle by the name of Jaime Amell the other day? Helped with the whole your-nephew-was-an-abomination-for-awhile thing?"

"It's possible…" Teagan said, becoming more offended the more he talked to the woman.

"You'd have remembered him. Pretty, shiny, straight, black hair like mine (or at least it used to be— he might be bald now for all I know; I haven't seen him in years), good bones with some really kickass cheekbones— just like mine— and some really nice silver eyes."

"Ah. Yes," Teagan said dryly. "Yes. He was a good young lad, and on his way back to the Circle now, I believe. May I ask why you care?"

"He's my brother, and I'm going to find him. Thanks! I'll be back at the castle to help again sometime before the Blight is over— presumably— unless the templars kill me, of course. Wish me luck!" and she set out the door just as quickly as she came. She was… interesting.

* * *

Levi made some wonderful hare for dinner, and Jowan has ecstatic to get some food in his stomach now that they had set up camp. His companions were healed with poultices and had been pretty much ignoring him all day, but at least he got to have some hare. At least the contempt had disappeared. Apparently, the assailants they faced had been sent for _Leliana_ of all people, and that Leliana would have to pay a visit to Denerim soon, but she insisted she could wait until it made sense for her to do so.

After devouring her dinner, Mercy turned her violet eyes to Jowan. Maker, she was unsettling, but also hauntingly beautiful in the way her snow-white hair tumbled past her shoulders and around her horns.

"So, Jowan. We need to talk," she said, leaning forward on her log and clasping her hands together.

Jowan winced. "Should we not do this… elsewhere? In private?"

"Nonsense," Mercy said. "There were people relying on you that almost got seriously hurt or even killed today, and you owe them an explanation just as much as me."

Shale snickered. "Oh, this should be good. Will it punish the fool mage?"

"Not now, Shale," Mercy snarled before turning back to Jowan. "What do you have to say for yourself? I saved you from the templars' justice, the Circle, and gave you a place as a Grey Warden. I had heard that you were skilled, but I suppose that not everything Rayne says is true."

"I… I'm sorry. I hate what I did— all of it, ever since the tower. Look what my magic has wrought. You should have given me to the templars… I'm useless out here."

"Agreed," Sten grunted. "From what I have seen, I am suprised you can control your bowels, let alone something as dangerous as magic.

Before Mercy could respond, Leliana put her hand on Jowan's shoulder. "I do not claim to know all of the Chant, or even most of it, but growing up, there were always certain Canticles that interested me more than the others. Have you heard of the Dissonant Verses?"

"I haven't, sister," Jowan said meekly.

"I thought not. They were stricken from the Chant during the Exalted March on the Dales, as well as most other mentions of elves, but Lady Cecilie insisted on my learning them nonetheless."

"Leliana, what purpose does this serve?"

"I am getting there, Mercy," Leliana said calmly. "When Shartan— you know of Shartan, yes? Andraste's elven companion and friend— led his people to the Dales, many of them wanted to turn back. The Long Walk was arduous, enormously so, and many of Shartan's fellow elves wished to give up, to turn back and submit again to their Tevinter masters. There, at least, they would be safe. Do you know what he said to them?"

Jowan was interested now. He supposed the Circle never allowed any mentions of these Dissonant Verses. The camp was silent now, everyone eager to find out what happened next; even Shale seemed interested in this tale. "What did he say?"

"Now, forgive me if I butcher any of this— I have not sung the Chant in awhile, especially not this Canticle," Leliana warned, clearning her throat before letting the melody fly free.

 _"They will taunt you and humiliate you_

 _While they hang you in the marketplace._

 _They will pelt you with offal while they call you_

 _Broken, a coward, and a failure._

 _"A dog might slink back to the hand it has bitten_

 _And be forgiven, but a slave never._

 _ **If you would live, and live without fear, you must fight.**_ _"_

"That was satisfactory, Leliana. You displayed mastery," Sten commented, much to everyone's surprise. Leliana blushed and thanked him, just as confused as her companions.

Leliana then smiled at Jowan knowingly, and he smiled back. Mercy took his hand, and looked him right in the eye.

"I can offer you freedom, but you can have more than that. This is your chance at redemption, a way to escape the headman's axe. I'm not asking you to use blood magic, or even destructive primal magic, but I am going to need you to at least give us a hand in battle— debilitating enemies or bolstering allies, learning some healing magic. You have a chance, but it's up to you to take it. We can't keep you around if you're that useless in a fight. Like Leliana sang: _If you would live, and live without fear, you must fight._ Does that sound fair?"

Jowan swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to bite back his tears. "It does, Warden-Commander. Thank you."

"And if you do succumb, _bas sarebaas_ , you may rely on me to cut you down before you do any others harm," Sten offered helpfully. It actually made Jowan feel a little bit better.

"Thank you, Sten," Jowan chuckled.

"Wonderful!" Leliana said excitedly. "Now that that is out of the way, I have been working on a ballad for our inevitable victory in the Blight. I was wondering if I could have your opinions!"

"That would be acceptable," Sten said. After receiving nods from everyone else, Leliana took out her lute and began to play…

" _Now her hands are raised_

 _Two swords to pierce the sun_

 _With shining blades she defends the 'fraid_

 _Let chaos be undone…"_

* * *

 _Notes:_

 _I realize the original verse I took Leliana's first little verse of her ballad is from the Canticle of Victoria, which is only written if and when Cassandra becomes Divine post Trespasser. It's also where the title of the story comes from, though, and who's to say that Leliana wasn't the one who helps Cassandra and others write Victoria when Cassandra ascends the Sunburst Throne. I just altered it a bit for Mercy._

 _In regards to Mel: I already had my Christopher Hawke, featured very briefly, way earlier, and I wanted to include lady Hawke, but couldn't do two sets of twins. But Jaime, Revka's son, canonically has a bunch of siblings, each of whom were gifted with magic and sent to different circles. So why couldn't one of them, for all intents and purposes, be a lot like a purple Hawke in different circumstances, an apostate escapee from a Circle and member of the Collective? 'Mel's full name is Marian A **mel** l, like default Marian Hawke. If she comes back, it won't be until way farther down the line, but I wanted to get her introduced now so she isn't too much of a shock later._


	23. A Free Spirit

**Chapter 22: A Free Spirit**

"You are certain, ladies, that his name is Aneirin? And that he came from human lands?" Wynne asked the Dalish elves with whom she was traveling. She had originally been excited to go to Denerim and meet Genitivi, but when she heard Enid and Merrill talking about an elven mage named Aneirin who had apparently helped their Keeper stop the darkspawn taint from consuming Enid entirely, she had to take the chance. If there was even a chance he had survived… She had to apologize, to make things right.

"Quite certain, _hahren_ Wynne. He is quite skilled, maybe even more than Keeper Marethari! Or you!"

"Truly, child?" Wynne asked, raising an eyebrow. "That is… Most interesting. I do hope this is the same Aneirin I knew, but I shouldn't get my hopes up. It isn't likely."

"Do not worry, my darling Wynne! If you are let down, my shoulder is always available to cry on," Zevran joked.

"Oh? I thought I had claim to those shoulders now," Mayrin teased.

"And that is usually the case, my dear Warden, but I am afraid that Wynne and her marvelous bosom must take precedence."

"Understandable. It is _quite_ a marvelous bosom," Mayrin agreed.

"Oh, Maker," Wynne said, rubbing her eyes wearily. "The two of you are incorrigible. Stop… Talking about my bosom."

The group of them continued on their trek towards the Brecilian Forest, taking detours and alternate paths where needed. The ruins of Lothering were avoided entirely, and Merrill was making ample use of the techniques Morrigan had originally used to get Alistair, Mercy and Rayne out of the Wilds. While the main Horde was easy enough to avoid, they did occasionally encounter stragglers, of which they made quick work.

Enid and Merrill were excited to more Dalish elves, even if they were not of the same clan. In fact, Merrill was practically vibrating. They shared Dalish traditions and customs with their companions, excitedly letting them know that there might even be singing and that they should be prepared for the possibility. Merrill was especially excited to see Lanaya again, a young mage that had made an impression on her at the last _Arlathvhen._

They eventually made it to what Cadoc told them was the arling of South Reach, under the rule of Arl Leonas Bryland. Wynne recognized the name— he had been at the battle of White River during the Rebellion. They could see the city of South Reach itself in the distance, its grey stone walls starkly contrasting the surrounding farmland and forest. The darkspawn had control of the city; they could sense a massive group of them inside the walls, and the taint had seeped into the ground. They didn't seem to be venturing outside of the walls for now, and were as-of-yet separated from the rest of the Horde.

It looked like the arling had been abanodoned, the arl advising retreat when it was prudent. They found the bodies of a few freeholders among the farmland, but not nearly as many as they would have found had Arl Leonas not advised retreat. Wynne thanked the Maker that the Circle was in the middle of a lake, and that her family would probably be fairly safe from the Blight for a good while. At least until they were called into battle, that is…

The Wardens and their companions decided to camp in a little abandoned settlement a good distance away from South Reach itself. Mayrin and Zevran claimed one of the houses for themselves, and Cadoc and Wynne took the one beside it. The Dalish elected to sleep outside. The bodies they found in the village were given to the flame. There was a single tattooed elf who was buried in once-fertile soil, Merrill planting a tree to mark the grave (though Wynne doubted anything would grow), and there were a few dwarves that Mayrin insisted on burying himself.

Wynne bid her companions goodnight and made her way up to her room. The room was sparse enough; there was a simple, wooden, double bed, a dresser, a chamberpot and a copy of the Chant of the bedside table. Leaning her staff on the wall, hanging her cloak and bag up, she collapsed on the bed, excited to let her hair down and take her boots off her sore and suffering feet. When she fell onto the bed, though, she heard a yelp from under her.

She paused for a moment, processing what happened, and then got on her knees to have a look under the bed. Before her was a waif of a girl in common clothes, nearly a skeleton at this point. She had dark skin, deep brown eyes and curly black hair, and her eyes were red, puffy and streaked with tears. Wynne smiled at her and held her hand out, saying: "I mean you no harm, child. My name is Wynne, and I travel with Grey Wardens. We are here to help."

The girl took her hand hesitantly, and tried to say: "Darla. I'm D- Darla." Her voice was raspy from disuse and lack of water. As Wynne helped her onto the bed, she offered the child water and some bread and cheese, careful not to overfeed her.

"It is nice to meet you, Darla," Wynne said warmly as Darla eagerly devoured her bread and cheese.

"Thank you for the cheese, miss. If you are with Grey Wardens, does that mean the monsters are gone?"

"The Blight is not defeated, but my Warden companions have assured me that this area is safe for now," Wynne responded calmly.

After speaking with the girl for awhile, Wynne learned her story, and it was nothing too shocking. Her parents had told her to hide in their bedroom some time ago, and she hadn't moved since. Yet another child orphaned by the Blight.

After Wynne gained her trust (which was not difficult considering the child was six years old), she was able to use her magic to restore, rejuvenate and heal the child to the best of her abilities. Darla eventually fell asleep on Wynne's lap, and Wynne soon followed suit, happy to finally be given a Fade-granted reprieve from the horrors of the Blight.

* * *

Mayrin awoke to a familiar ringing in his ears. He looked at Zevran, sleeping peacefully on his chest, and hesitated for a moment, not wanting the moment to end. Still, had his duty and all that. He eventually shook Zevran awake and commanded him to get dressed, warning him of the impending threat. He could already hear Enid yelling to wake everyone up, and Cadoc's muffled voice fretting about the incoming threat.

Him and his assassin made his way down the stairs and out of their house, meeting their companions in the settlment's square. Enid, Mayrin and Cadoc formed a triangle around Wynne and Merrill, with Zevran skirting around the outside, dagger and longsword drawn and eyes flitting between shadows.

"I can sense them, but where in Dirthamen's name are they?" Enid asked.

"Shit," Mayrin realized. "If we can't see them that means—"

He was interrupted by blood-curdling high pitched shrieks, darkspawn assassins appearing from the shadows and striking like lightning. Mayrin silently cursed; they hadn't prepared the newbies for this. Him, Merrill and Enid had fought plenty of them, and Cadoc saw some when they first recruited him, but he didn't have a lot of experience against them. Wynne and Zev were even worse; he doubted either had ever seen one.

He parried a strike with his shield, and heard Enid do the same behind him. Cadoc roared— in anger and pain both— as a shriek lodged its blade into his abdomen. He took to oppurtunity to bring his axe down on the monster's head and moved onto the next one. Wynne and Merrill both cast stoneskin on themselves, and then proceeded to do what they did best. Merrill called great vines from the earth to bind and entrap her opponents, while Wynne used her considerable talent for healing to keep her companions on their feet. Any blow they took, Wynne healed them quickly.

Zevran was a part of a deadly dance between him and two sharlocks, and he was having trouble taking even a single strike at either between their incessant rampage. Thankfully, Mayrin intervened before things became too dire, and the duo quickly dispatched the shrieks in their way. This was good; they were winning. Mayrin and Zevran charged towards their fellows in order to help them deal with the last remaining shrieks when they heard a child cry out: "Wynne!"

Wynne froze and turned to the source of the voice: a small child looking scared, desperate and confused. "Darla!" she cried, "Get back inside! It isn't—" was all Wynne could say before one of the darkspawn took advantage of her distraction and flipped over Cadoc, cutting a deep red gash across her shoulder. She fell to her knees, clearly trying to maintain consciousness.

Wynne wasn't the only one distracted by the girl: Enid and Cadoc both paused momentarily at the sound of her voice, and that was all the darkspawn needed to do some damage. Mayrin, Zevran and Merrill eventually finished off the remaining shrieks, but the damage was done: Wynne was barely maintaining consciousness, and Enid and Cadoc were losing blood too quickly for Mayrin's liking. That was when he realized that the buzzing hadn't stopped yet; not entirely. And it was getting louder.

The ground trembled before them as a single, solitary ogre came charging out of a nearby farmhouse. Darla screamed and, annoyingly, ran towards Wynne's fading form.

"Creators, that's a big one!," Merrill exclaimed hopelessly, obviously nearly depleted of her mana.

"Zev, Merrill: get the others out of here and heal them. I'll hold this thing off while you retreat," Mayrin said, stepping forward and raising his shield and axe in what was sure to be a heroic last stand, until Zevran appeared beside him.

"You are not getting rid of me that easily, my Warden," Zev said, blades bared and eyes wild as the ogre barreled ever forward.

Suddenly, there was a flash of brilliant blue and white light behind them, and they looked back to see Senior Enchanter Wynne shrouded in that same light, her eyes glowing blue and hands pulsing with power. She put a hand on Cadoc and another on Enid, pulling them back from the brink of death with little more than a gesture. Then she raised her staff to the sky, rejuvenating all around her. Mayrin felt his wounds closing and energy returning, and had no doubt that his companions felt the same. Ancestors, Mayrin had no idea the old woman had it in her.

"Nor I, Grey Wardens," Wynne chuckled, her voice accompanied by a choir of discordant voices inspiring hope and faith in her allies as ambient magic crackled around her and Darla clung to her robes in wonder. "Now, show this monster that you are worthy of the trust Thedas has placed in you! Show it what being a Grey Warden truly means!"


	24. Duty

**Chapter 23: Duty**

Teyrn Loghain was supposed to be a hero. What she heard growing up, even from other elves, made it seem like he was a good man that judged people based on their deeds, not where they came from or by the shape of their ears. His station was a testament to that fact, as were his Night Elves during the Rebellion. The only time she'd met him— in the Arl of Denerim's cell— he treated her with respect and something bordering on compassion. But what they'd seen on their way to Denerim, the civil war in the bannorn, refugees _shemlen_ and elvhen both, fleeing from the darkspawn only to find more carnage among the human lords that were supposed to protect them… It made Eve question what she had heard.

The same could be said about the Wardens. She had thought them strong and virtuous heroes of legend, but when she realized that Jowan was Joining with her, she almost stabbed him herself. The fact that he was still alive just meant that she was growing as a person. It was Jowan's fault that Connor had been possessed, that Redcliffe was ravaged by undead, that Irminric was dead. She was happy to see, at least, that Alistair and Rayne were of the same mind as she. Some Wardens had standards, at least.

Returning to Denerim was one of the most terrifying and exciting things she had done in a long time, dread and anticipation both with her as she approached the gates with her compatriots. They were to enter in different groups: first went Bodahn and Sandal with Keegan and Nathaniel in their cart to hide them from prying eyes and Diala as their fellow dwarf and bodyguard. Second, Morrigan and Alistair would present themselves as Chantry folk. Alistair had… Irminric's armour on, fresly cleaned and polished, and Morrigan was eventually convinced to dawn Leliana's old Chantry robes. With them were a couple of poor elves they were helping flee the Blight— Eve and Rayne (whose staff had to be forcefully ripped from his fingers to be thrown into the wagon)— and the good templar's mabari. The mabaris— Garahel and Felix both— would distract from any suspicion aroused by Morrigan's eyes; Fereldans were, after all, a predictable bunch.

They got past the guards easy enough and renconvened in the Market District at Bodahn's stand. The dwarf was obviously very pleased to be able to ply his trade somewhere where none of the population was composed of walking corpses. They split up, each group having their own little mission to which they had to attend. Alistair and Diala were apparently going to visit his half-sister; Rayne was taking Morrigan and Garahel to pay a visit to Genitivi (the former was almost vibrating in anticipation— apparently this Genitivi was a big deal); Keegan, Nathaniel and Felix would visit a smith to work on the drake scales Rayne found in Kinloch Hold, but the Cousland obviously had greater plans than that. What they were, he did not say. That left Eve. And the Alienage. Maker, she hoped her family was okay. Rayne expressed an interest in visiting later, and, surprisingly, so did Nathaniel.

Hood up, she moved deftly through the the market stalls and crowd to make her way to the gates of the Alienage. When overheard a _shem_ noble with the most annoying voice in Thedas (other than Jowan's) verbally abusing her elven maid, Eve had to remind herself why she was here. Zevran had given her some training in poison and assassination techniques in Redcliffe, but testing them out in the middle of Denerim would not be a good idea. Nor was stealing from the stalls that used to be her primary sources of income. She even passed by Sergeant Kylon, who either did not recognize her or pretended not to, because Eve was certain they made eye contact. She never had any bad experiences with Kylon. Certainly, the role each of them used to play often brought them into contact, even at odds, but he was nothing if not respectful, and always treated her fairly. She wondered what he thought of the new Arl.

As she arrived at the gates, she was greeted by a most unwelcome sight: a _shemlen_ in armour armed with a sword.

"By order of the new Arl of Denerim, no one is to enter the Alienage."

 _Wonderful._

* * *

Keegan grasped the ivy that had grown on the Couslands' Denerim estate tightly, struggling to pull himself up. It had been awhile since he'd snuck in or out of this estate, and this was the first time he had ever done it in broad daylight. Luckily, however, the guards posted around the estate seemed to be particularly sparse today, and Keegan had no trouble avoiding them. He eventually made it onto a big window sill, but the window was locked— it was fall, after all. Peering into the room, he realized that the fire in his mother's sun room was burning and cursed silently. No, it would have been to easy if it were otherwise. Unless…

He took another look into the window and quickly apologized to the Maker for his most recent blaspheme. Sitting on a rocking chair and reading a great tome of a book was a rake-thin elderly woman with brown eyes and snow white hair pulled back into a tight bun. She was wearing her familiar servant clothes with her immaculate white apron draped over of them. That apron never got dirty— Mistress Peyton wouldn't let it.

Keegan rapped on the window quietly, trying to get the attention of a woman he considered a mother figure. It took her a moment, and when she did hear him, she almost called for help before it dawned on her who was outside her window. She hurriedly opened it to beckon him inside, and wrapped him up in a hug tighter than any woman her size and age should be capable of.

"Keegan! Dear boy! What are you doing here? Come in, come in. What are you doing here? I thought that…"

"I was the only one who made it, Mistress Peyton," Keegan said, removing himself from her embrace, refusing to feel anything. Not yet. "We have much to discuss. Come with me."

"Of course, my lord," Peyton said, giving the man she helped raise a slight bow and despairing at what seemed to have become of him. She was happy to see him, of course, but where was his easy smile, his mischevious laugh, or the good-natured teasing that had kept her mind sharp all these years.

She led him through a familiar but sparsely-populated upper floor of the estate to the former Teyrn's sitting room. Once a room overflowing with books and adorned with various baubles, statues, maps and tapestry, it had been ransacked, purged and repurposed by its new owner, most of Bryce Cousland's affects thrown away like yesterday's dinner. As Keegan took his seat, she had some tea made for the two of them, and they began to talk.

Keegan recounted the horrible events of the past few months to Peyton, knowing her loyalty to the Couslands was unwavering. She listened quietly, her expressions oscillating between horror, shock, sorrow, and unadulterated fury. Despite all of that, she was also relieved and vindicated to find out that Howe's slander about the Couslands' treason was just that. Old and frail as she might be, there was a reason the Couslands had trusted her for so long, and she appeared to be living up to that trust now. After she calmed a bit, Keegan interrogated her about the state of things here in the manor.

Howe had apparently only been here a handful of times, and hadn't visited in months, preferring the comfort afforded by the Arl of Denerim's manor. Many of the servants who did not live at the manor, especially the elven ones, quit— either in protest or fear for their own safety— to return to their homes in the Alienage Howe was in the process of destroying. The guards had quit almost all at the same time, and any ardent Cousland loyalists who remained were fired. Those who stayed on did so because they had no alternatives nor home to which they could return.

"Why'd you stay on then, Miss P?"

"Our new lord thinks I am but a frail old lady, too old to be a threat. Let him," she said as she took a sip of her tea. "Furthermore, you know as well as I do that this place would fall apart without me. Not a thing happens here that I do not know about."

Keegan nodded at that, allowing himself to smile slightly. "Now… I'm going to ask a favour of you, Mistress Peyton. I want you to know that you the have the option of saying no, as this will be quite dangerous. In fact, you could be executed just for—"

"Whatever it is, may count on me, my dear," Mistress Peyton said, taking Keegan's empty cup from him and beginning to clean up.

"Without even hearing what I have to ask?" Keegan questioned, smiling at the woman before him.

"Of course, dear. It's quite simple, really: a Cousland always does his duty. How could I do any less?"


	25. Old Friends

_Notes: Hey folks! Sorry about the delay, but I had reading week and stuff and was running around a bunch of places. But I'm back at school now and updates should be fairly regular again. Also, if you just went to the most recent chapter, check the one beforehand, because I uploaded two today (they were written as one, but it was pretty long)._

 _Enjoy! And don't forget to review! Thank you!_

* * *

 **Chapter 24: Old Friends**

 _Bend but do not break_. Working with a _shemlen_ to get into the Alienage wasn't a betrayal of her people, was it? No. Eve was checking on her family, and would help them if needed, even if the father of this _shem_ was the reason she couldn't get into her home in the first place.

"You sure you're okay with this, Nathaniel? If we do this, your father will know about you."

Nathaniel smiled to himself. She may not have had any venom in her voice, but she still refused to call him Arl Nathaniel. He had to respect that. "He was going to find out sooner or later, and I think that the fact that I'm his blood will at least make him hesitate momentarily before sending assassins. I hope, at least… But, really. It's no trouble, my lady. Let them come."

Eve smiled at him hesitantly as they approached the gates. Apparently, Nathaniel's identity would remain a secret for now, as the guard was quite amenable to a bribe from Nathaniel, something Eve had never considered. Adventuring across the countryside and pillaging the corpses of those she killed had been quite lucrative for the young city elf, but it still didn't feel like it; she wasn't used to having money and had never even considered a bribe. It would have been impossible in her own life. The bribe was also helped by Nathaniel's haughty noble demeanour that all of his kind were apparently born knowing how to channel. At least with this noble, it seemed to be an act.

The portcullis was raised and Eve lead Nathaniel into the foul-smelling and refuse-strewn Alienage she once called home. It was as she remembered: streets littered with filth of all kinds, and home to the most unlucky among the elves. The ramshackle houses looked fragile enough to crumble at a slight breeze, and the only thing in the entire Alienage that wasn't completely devoid of vibrancy and life was the _vhenadahl_ , strong and proud as ever. And then there was the smell. Maker, Eve had almost forgotten; there was nothing worse than living in your own filth.

"Maker, what happened here?" Nathaniel asked, plugging his nose as his eyes began to water.

"'Happened?' Nothing happened. This is an Alienage, and nicer than some others in Ferelden, or so I'm told. This is normal for us," Eve stated matter-of-factly.

"Truly? I had heard Alienage conditions were less than ideal, but to force our own citizens to live like this… this is monstrous," Nathaniel whispered.

"And is it any wonder we think most _shems_ are monsters?"

"No," Nathaniel responded quietly. "At this moment, I am inclined to agree," he continued, clenching his fist in anger.

As they continued into the Alienage, more and more people began to recognize the dear departed daughter of Cyrion Tabris, and a veritable crowd began to gather around her. They were, of course, curious about what happened, and stepped cautiously around Nathaniel, apparently more terrified by humans than they had ever been before. Mostly, though, they were happy; tears of joy flowed freely as Eve lost herself in the embrace of the family she had so missed.

Something was off, however: even though the Alienage was apparently on lockdown and should be filled to the brim it was considerably more sparse than usual. And where was her family? Her father, Shianni, Soris and even Valendrian were nowhere to be found. She eventually picked a familiar face out of the crowd, Alarith, and pulled him aside, politely asking him where everyone was. He hesitated at first, eyeing Nathaniel wearily before getting assurance from Eve that he was trustworthy.

"They've been holed up in Valendrian's all day, and no one else is allowed in. Rumours have been circulating, but nobody knows for sure what's going on. We were thankful that they were among the lucky ones, though. Your father is almost as much an elder as the _hahren_ himself."

"Lucky? What do you mean?"

"You hadn't heard, then? The new Arl purged the Alienage when he arrived for… Well, apparently for what you did. But when the orphanage was put to the sword, we knew there was something more behind it. It was… the worst thing I've ever seen, Maker rest their poor souls."

"The orphanage?! What about the kids?!"

"All of them… gone. And then the Tevinters arrived."

"Tevinters? Maker, what were they doing here?"

"They said they were healers and had been given dispensation by the crown to help us… but nobody they 'helped' ever returned. Eventually, the queen and the regent's forces came in and killed them, but not before losing some of our number to them. Thank the Maker for Teyrn Loghain and Queen Anora." That was a lot to process. Eve ruminated on it for a moment, before halfheartedly agreeing and thanking Alarith. She then set out to Valendrian's, knocking hard on the door excitedly. There was murmuring in the house before she heard her father's a voice call out from the inside, saying: "Apologies, friend, but Valendrian is occupied at the moment. He'll be with you later tonight."

"I think he'll make an exception for me," Eve responded in a singsong voice. There was silence for a moment from the inside, before she heard who was likely one of her cousins bound towards the door. It flew open and Shianni gave Eve a massive hug, before ushering Eve and, cautiously, Nathaniel, into the elder's home.

"Cousin! You're alive! I can scarcely believe it!"

Valendrian's home was stiflingly hot compared to the chilly Harvestmere outside, presumably from the amount of people crammed into such a small space. Reunions were as quick as they were heartfelt, with Soris, Shianni, Valendrian and Cyrion thanking the Maker and hugging Eve before the expressions on their faces once more became those of the deathly serious. They were wary of Nathaniel, but thanked him for helping Eve get into the Alienage.

Valendrian told Eve that they had some guests, and led her back to Valendrian's desk to come face-to-face with a human woman of all things, skin pale as snow and cold like ice. Her golden hair was tied into two neat buns and she was wearing servant clothes, but servant clothes that indicated she served someone of great means. Beside her stood an elven woman with black hair and a face that was skinny as an arrow dressed in the same fashion. She had daggers on her belt, and by the way she carried herself, Eve surmised there were even more hidden on her person.

Nathaniel immediately dropped to one knee and bowed his head before the woman while Eve looked at him quizzically. "Nathaniel! It is good to see you. Please, there is no need for that," the woman said with a cultured accent and sincerity in her eyes.

"Uh, Nathaniel?" Eve asked. "Who in the Maker's name is this?"

* * *

Rayne was getting quite used to having servants, and he couldn't say he hated it. After him and Morrigan visited Brother Genitivi's former abode, they followed Keegan's directions and made their way to the Denerim estate of the Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever. The servants, few as they were, were attentive and deferential, and he ate better than he ever did in the Circle.

Genitivi's absence was disappointing, and his assistant's murder was disturbing. Still, they at least had a destination, and Morrigan was happy for a little sport, even when they were in Denerim. Diala and Alistair's journey had apparently been less than successful, whatever it was, and Alistair had been sulking all day while Diala tried to comfort him. At least he was handsome when he pouted, Rayne reflected. He was handsome doing most anything, actually.

Nathaniel and Keegan had visited the armour smith before Nathaniel accompanied Eve into the Alienage, but Rayne couldn't get a read from her. She seemed to be an odd mix of worry, sadness, elation and anticipation. Whatever happened, they were tight-lipped about it, which just made Rayne want to know even more. Andraste, why people outside the Circle insisted on privacy he would never understand. Bodahn and Sandal were apparently staying at the Gnawed Noble, so the rest of them didn't have to worry about the merchants while they were here, which suited Rayne just fine. He missed the communal living of the Circle. On the outside, everyone was so possessive. Money, space, knowledge, even love… Rayne thought these things should be given freely and shared with all, not hoarded greedily.

Peyton, the mistress of the manor and a sharp, no-nonsense woman, invited them all to the dining hall for dinner, and had some roast nug from Orzammar prepared for them, served with some Legacy White Shear. Diala was incredibly thankful to Peyton for the nug, and all were impressed by the Shear. Mistress Peyton treated them all very well— dwarf, elf, human and mage alike, which impressed Rayne deeply. She even had some mabari crunches for Garahel and Felix.

By dinner, Diala seemed to have roused Alistair from his funk, and the two of them were being even more touchy-feely than usual. Morrigan may have scoffed at the affection, but Rayne was happy for them. Whatever was happening between him and Morrigan may not have been as pure and loving as the bastard prince and exiled princess, but it was just as meaningful— to Rayne and Morrigan both, even if she couldn't see it yet. Everyone shared their findings for the day, but Eve was still leaving something out, and Rayne could barely stand it.

"When Keegan gets here," she kept repeating.

Sure enough, the wayward young teyrn showed up about halfway through dinner, striding in from Creators only know which secret entrance or passage, and Felix went bounding towards him. For the first time, Rayne saw something resembling emotion on Keegan's face: anger. Hopelessness. Despair. Above all: panic.

"Keegan!" Eve called, standing up as he walked in.

Ignoring her, he began ranting: "She wasn't there! Andraste's ass, she wasn't there!"

"Keegan," Eve tried again.

"I snuck in, avoiding guards, picking locks, bribing and lying and killing to get to her. But she wasn't there. What if they've killed her? Or worse? Howe, maybe, but Loghain wouldn't allow that, would he?"

"Keegan," Nathaniel attempted.

"This was a waste of time! We were too fucking late. We should have been faster… _I_ should have been—"

"KEEGAN!" Nathaniel and Eve screamed in unison, snapping him out of his worried ramblings.

"We know where she is," Eve said. Keegan regarded her curiously, not fully comprehending what she said.

"Anora's in the Alienage, Keegan. She's alive, and she's waiting for you."


End file.
